Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Beauregard Maverick had a lot to tell his youngest son. How would Bart feel about his father when the story was done?
1. Chapter 1

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Prologue

" _Get out, Beauregard." It was said quietly, dispassionately, with no warmth or emotion. Not revulsion, hatred, or pity, which was surprising even to her._

" _Belle, please, listen to me – "_

" _Get out, Beauregard." Now she turned to face him, and saw the tears running down his cheeks. It didn't matter. At that moment she was numb; wounded so badly she could no longer feel anything. And even though all she wanted to do was hurt him the way he'd hurt her, there was nothing left inside her to hurt him with._

" _If you'll just let me explain – "_

" _Get out, Beauregard." It was like a mantra she kept repeating over and over. It was easy – all he had to do was walk out the door; she would close it behind him and be done with him forever. But for some reason he wouldn't heed the simple words, and continued to stand in front of her like Chester Riley's old hound dog used to. She could pick up something and throw it at him, but she didn't have the energy. For some reason the few simple words he'd said to her – "I spent last night with your sister Grace" – had taken not only her breath and her emotions, but all her strength._

 _He took two steps forward and reached for her, she took two steps backward and evaded his grasp. Then she saw it – her way out. His derringer lay on the table, right next to her. He took another step and she grabbed the small gun and pointed it at him._

 _She said it one more time. "Get out, Beauregard."_

 _He put his hands up in front of him and his dark eyes flashed at her. "Put the gun down, Isabelle. You're not going to shoot me."_

 _That's where he was wrong. She pulled the trigger on the derringer and saw him stagger as the shot hit it's mark. A blood spot appeared rapidly on his left shoulder and he grabbed for it and cried out, staring at her as if he'd seen the devil incarnate. Without another word of protest he grabbed his coat and rushed past her and out the door, never looking back. She set the gun down on the table and a smile crept slowly across her lips. "And stay out," she called to the closed door, relieved that she'd finally gotten him to leave._

Bart stared at his father, a look of sheer horror on his face. "She shot you? Momma shot you?"

Beau nodded his head slowly. "She sure did, son. Just glad derringers only had one shot in those days. Otherwise you and your brother never woulda been born."


	2. The Way Home

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 1 – The Way Home

Bart rode south, towards the Kansas border, Indian Territory, and Texas, with Will Neary and Ned Southern. They were on their way back to Little Bend after helping Althea Taylor with a cattle drive to Abilene; Bart and his brother Bret had trail bossed the drive. Ned was Head Wrangler because of his expertise with horses, and Will spent his time learning about a cattle drive first hand. He'd started assisting Ned with the remuda and ended by riding drag and left and right wing, being personally tutored by Bart on what it took to ride point and Nighthawk. The three men had gotten comfortable with each other and decided to travel back to Texas together, nobody being in any big hurry to get home. Then Will sent a telegram to his wife and discovered their twin boys were sick, and the three men hastily changed their plans and left Abilene much sooner than expected.

Not having bossed a cattle drive in a while, Bart generally would have played poker a few days in Abilene to unwind before heading back to Little Bend. Originally he had no intention of traveling back to Texas, but a strange promise by his father and an unexplainable dream he'd had motivated him in that direction. Plus his brother Bret had fallen for Fred Taylor's widow, Althea, the owner of the herd, and they were returning to Texas via the stage. He had to be there to see just how it all played out, and somebody needed to have Bret's back in case Pappy did something foolish. And then there was his cousin Beau, a relatively new widower due to the death of his wife, and he had no intention of leaving Beau in Texas with his father Bentley and namesake Uncle Beauregard.

So Ned and Will and Bart rode all day down through Kansas, then started taking two-hour shifts at night standing guard once they got into Indian Territory. They wasted as little time as possible and saw more rain than they did Indians. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief once they'd crossed the Red River back into Texas, and Noble was allowed to resume guard duty while all three riders slept. Since Bart's gelding was as skittish as he was particular, they were more than willing to let him 'protect' them.

Little Bend was finally in sight, and the three riders took three separate trails home. Will rode for the Walker Ranch, anxious to see how his boys and his wife were. Ned went to the Taylor spread, and even though Althea was still on the road, she'd sent word back to her foreman to put the young wrangler to work. Bart went straight to the 'mansion', as Pappy called Uncle Ben's house and had to endure another greeting from Lily Mae.

"Lily Mae, I haven't been gone that long. Stop smothering me."

"Here now, Mr. B, you stand there and take all my huggin' and kissin' like the man you are and just be glad there's somebody here to do it. You see what kind of a 'welcome home' you get from those three night owls!"

Bart laughed, happy to be off the trail at last. The thought of sleeping in a real bed was the most exciting thing to happen in weeks. "How is everybody, Lily?"

"Hmmpf. Young Mr. Beau is doin' better. He's spent a lot of time with his daddy, and that's a good thing. Mr. Ben is Mr. Ben. He's always good, long as he's not in a fight to the death with his brother. Your Pappy – I just don't know what to do with him. He's been walkin' around under a black cloud for weeks. Now don't get me wrong – I don't mean he's been in a bad mood – it's somethin' different than that. It's like there's a ghost walkin' around with him – a ghost that only he can see. The only time I ever seen him like this – and I can't be sure, it was so long ago – was after he buried your momma. There was a time you came over here with Beau and Bret stayed over at your pappy's house with him and Ben. I never saw a man so destroyed over a woman in my whole life. That's almost what he's been like. Been broodin' on somethin' ever since you and Bret left for Abilene. You got any idea what it is?"

Bart had been listening to her with rapt attention, but he shook his head 'no' now. "He wants to talk to me about somethin' – that's all I know. That's one of the reasons I came back."

"One of the reasons? What else is there?"

Bart couldn't help but grin. "Bret and Althea Taylor."

Lily Mae raised her eyes up to heaven. "Oh Lord, preserve me. What's them two into?"

"Each other," Bart answered, a mischievous smile on his face.

A gasp issued forth from the housekeeper's lips. "Do you mean – "

"No, no, no, Lily," he had to explain to her. "They're takin' it slow. But they're head over heels for each other. I don't imagine Brother Bret is goin' to be comin' back here to stay as long as he's in Little Bend. I expect Pappy'll have fits when he finds out."

"Ha. The way he's been, I doubt he'd even notice. Here, give me your cup, I got more coffee."

"Everybody still goin' into town at night?"

"Yes, sir, 'cept they don't ride in together. Ben and Mr. Beau go early, then your Pappy rides in later, alone. Rides home alone, too. I'm tellin' ya, somethin's dreadful wrong. You gotta find out what it is so's we can get it stopped."

Bart dug in to the plate of bacon and eggs that Lily Mae set in front of him. He hadn't had a real breakfast in days. "Did you know Pappy much when he and momma first got married?"

"Nope, can't say as I did. Mr. Ben moved here first with Miz Abigail and baby Beau, then sometime later your pappy came with Miz Belle and Bret. They were here a while 'fore you were born. Why?"

"And that's all that moved here? Pappy and momma and Bret? Nobody else?"

"Did you lose somebody, Mr. B? Cause if you did I can't help you none. It was just them three that got here."

Bart was hungry enough to clean his plate for once, and Lily Mae beamed. "Alright, Lily, thanks. I'm goin' out for a while, if anybody wakes up and wants to know. I'll be back later on."

"You goin' to town, Mr. B?"

"No, ma'am, I've got an errand to run. Then I'm gonna ride over to the Walker's and see how the twins are doin'. I'll be back before supper. You behave yourself, you hear?" Bart got up from the table and kissed Lily Mae on the cheek. "Tell Pappy I'll see him tonight."

"Yes, sir, you stay outta trouble."

"Don't I always?" he asked, using that 'puppy-dog' look he'd perfected on his longtime friend and champion.

"Ha!" Lily Mae spit out and swatted at him. He smiled back at her and scampered out the front door.

XXXXXXXX

He dropped Noble's reins under the Desert-Willow tree that spread its leaves over the small graveyard. The tree always made him smile; it had been momma's favorite, with its lavender flowers and heavenly smell. Bart could imagine momma seeing this tree on the hill overlooking the little ranch house and deciding then and there this was the spot for the Maverick family graveyard. He removed his hat and clutched it to his chest, then started in on the apology he knew momma was waiting for.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here for a while, momma, but Bret and I have been everywhere. Even down in Mexico two or three times. I know, just what you didn't want us doin', runnin' all over the country the way Pappy used to. But we've talked about that before, and you know there's too much Maverick in our blood not to move around like cattle lookin' for water. I was in Arizona for almost a year, but I was too hurt to go much anywhere else, and then I didn't even know who I was.

"I came up here to see you, momma, because there's somethin' I need to know. I know you're up here with Aunt Abigail, but I need to know if you're missin' somebody. Someone named Beth? Do I have a sister out there in the world someplace?"

Bart stopped talking and listened to the wind rustle the leaves of the tree. There was the problem with talking to momma; just like always, she didn't provide much in the way of an answer to his questions. There was peace up here, though, that he felt nowhere else on the land that he and Bret called home, and even if momma didn't give him answers, she gave him that.

That's when he finally noticed the flowers piled all over her grave, some looking like they'd just been placed there fresh, some obviously having been there a long time. So that's what Lily Mae meant when she talked about ' _a ghost walkin' around with him_ ' - Pappy had been a VERY frequent visitor to his wife's grave.

Bart shook his head. No matter how many years had passed, or how many 'sweet young things' Beauregard Maverick might become enamored of, there was only one woman in the world for him – and she was buried right here. When Bart was younger, he used to sit up here for hours and wonder just how different his life would be if momma were alive. How many times over the years had Pappy told him, "There's no sense wishin' for things ya can't have, Bartley." Yet that's exactly what Pappy had been doing, always bringing his beloved Belle flowers when he was missing her. From the looks of her grave, the last month had been particularly lonely.

He looked down into the valley below and saw the small figure of a man on horseback headed this way. He put his hat back on and grabbed Noble's reins from the ground, hurrying to leave the graveyard before Pappy got here and realized that his youngest son knew his secret. Bart rode the back road towards the Walker Ranch, sorry that he hadn't been able to get an answer to his questions, but not having expected one to begin with. Whatever was going on between his mother and father had something to do with him and the mysterious Beth, and he'd learned over the years to not push Pappy into anything he wasn't ready for. Beauregard would come around in his own time, just like he did, and there was no doubt in his mind that all questions would be answered.


	3. New Friends and Old Memories

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 2 – New Friends and Old Memories

Things were a lot quieter at the Walker Ranch than they'd been the last time Bart was here. Amazing what a difference playing children made to the landscape.

There was no one on the porch, and the front door was closed, so Bart wrapped Noble's reins around the hitching rail and climbed the steps. He knocked twice before he could hear someone approaching the door, and it was Sally, the middle sister, that finally answered it. She smiled and opened it for him to come in, then put her finger to her lips. He nodded and said nothing, following her into the main room. From upstairs Will came out to the staircase, then proceeded silently downstairs. He and Bart shook hands and they went back out to the front porch, where Will sat in one of the rockers and Bart followed suit.

"How are they?"

Will shook his head, but had a small smile. "Better than they were. Doc Petry still doesn't know what it was, but they're finally starting to come out of it. I tell ya what, Bart, you don't know what real fear is until ya watch your boys lay in bed and suffer, and ya don't know what's wrong with 'em or what to do for 'em. Poor Winnie's about outta her mind. Jo finally got her to go lay down for a while; she's so exhausted I don't think she's slept five minutes since they first got sick. Thanks for leavin' Abilene before ya were ready and hurryin' to get back. I don't think Winnie's ever been so glad to see me."

Sally came out on the porch with a glass of sweet tea for Will and a cup of coffee for Bart. She sat down next to Bart and laid her hand on his arm. "Your timing was perfect. Winnie wouldn't leave their bedside until Will got home. Jo and I thought we were gonna have to hogtie her to make her sleep. How did you all get back so quick?"

Bart laughed a little. "Rode like the Sioux were after us. Every time we wanted to stop Will kept us movin' with worry. Fear is a real reason to make good time."

"Yeah, you just remember that when you have some of your own," Will explained to Bart. "You'll do anything in the world for 'em. Just like our pappy's woulda done for us."

Suddenly an image appeared in Bart's mind, that of his father when Beauregard arrived in Silver Creek during his trial _. "Bart!" It was a strangled cry that escaped his mouth as he rushed forward. "Bartley." The familiar greeting issued forth from Pappy's lips. He hurried over to the gaunt figure and threw his arms around his son, his boy. Bart struggled to extract his arms from the blanket and wrapped himself around his father. They stood that way for minutes; father standing, son seated, Beauregard willing himself not to sob at the poor, pitiful sight before him. What had his son been through to leave him looking so, so . . . . demolished was the only word that came to mind._

Bart shook his head to try and erase the image from his mind. For the first time, he could feel his father's pain at the sight of the scarecrow-like figure that had presented itself as his son. ' _Remind me not to have children,'_ he thought, and immediately regretted the words. The image of Pappy was replaced by one of Will, the look of pure joy on his face as his boys grabbed his hands and dragged him upstairs to tuck them into bed.

"Yeah, at least they're gettin' better," Bart offered, and although it was a pitiful offering, it was all he had.

Will nodded, and Sally got up from her chair and went back inside. "That was certainly an experience," Will finally admitted, and Bart knew exactly what he meant.

"Yeah, I think I was seventeen or eighteen the first one of those I did. Rode drag the whole way. Coughed up dust for a week afterward. My first and last experience trailin' a herd the entire trip."

"Understandable," Will replied, and then continued. "Bret and Althea get home yet?"

Bart shook his head. "No, I don't expect 'em for a couple days. You'll know they're here when you hear the explosion that comes from Pappy."

"He's really that set against either of you gettin' involved with a woman?"

"No, not involved. The dreaded word is 'married.' When we were younger he extracted a promise from both of us that we wouldn't marry until we were at least thirty-eight."

A look of puzzlement firmly entrenched itself on Will's face. "But . . . . . you broke that promise, didn't you?"

"Ah, but he didn't know that until after my wife was dead. No, I expect that Bret will be over at Althea's ranch permanent, and Pappy will equate that with 'marriage.' It's gonna be interestin', to say the least."

"He'll get over it, won't he?"

Bart laughed. "Sure. He'll get over it. What choice will he have? It'll be Bret that does it, after all. Pappy's doppelganger."

"Well, from what Winnie tells me, you were the wild child that got away with almost everything. Isn't that still true?"

"Yeah, pretty much. The difference is I just go ahead and do things, then worry about what Pappy has to say later. Or just don't tell him at all. Of course, that does tend to get me in trouble sometimes."

Bart's coffee was done, and he stood up to go. "Will, you ever decide to go on another drive, let me know. Be glad to help any way I can. Winnie did a fine job of findin' a husband for herself."

They stood and shook hands. "Thanks, Bart. I'll hold a good thought for your brother's arrival."

"You do that, friend. And take care a those boys. I'll be sure and come by before I leave Little Bend and see 'em again."

"You goin' anytime soon?"

"Don't know," Bart answered. "Depends on a lotta things."

He mounted Noble and swung away from the ranch, heading back toward the spread he grew up on. He was curious to see everything the Roycefields had done to the place before leaving with him on the cattle drive. Riding down the road to the little ranch brought back memories of the years he and Bret had spent here growing up.

When he came around the bend in the road he was surprised to find Pappy's horse out front. The front door was open and Bart went in, calling out "Pappy!" as he did so.

"Back here!" came his father's voice, and he followed it to the bedroom he and Bret had shared until he was almost twelve years old.

"You get lost?" he asked his father. Pappy was sitting on the bed, looking at an old photo. "What's that you've got?"

Pappy handed it to his son as Bart walked over to the bed. He was surprised and pleased to find a photo of his mother, holding a baby that had to be him, with a small boy of about three clinging to her skirts. His brother, no doubt. Belle looked strong and healthy, with a big smile on her face. He appeared happy, staring with a baby's adulation at its mother. The toddler seemed terrified, probably the last time in his life Bret Maverick ever had that expression on his face.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Bart asked his father.

Even after all these years there was nothing but pure adoration in his father's voice. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And to think I almost lost her."

"What does that mean, you almost lost her? Was she sick before? What happened, Pappy?"

Beauregard Maverick looked up at his youngest son, the man that the baby had grown into, and thought back to that day long ago when Belle Maverick had decided to shoot him in the shoulder rather than kill him. She had every right to do so, he acknowledged long ago, but he'd tried not to think about it in years. It was his own fault, and the most painful and shameful thing he'd ever done. And he'd promised himself that he would tell Bart the story, in its entirety, so he would finally understand just what his parents had gone through to have two sons.

"It's a long story, boy, and I only want to tell it once. Can you wait until Bret gets home? You both need to hear it. Please?"

Bart looked at his father, who'd never said 'please' in his life to either of his children and saw something in his eyes that had never been there before. Shame. "I . . . . . uh, sure, Pappy. I can wait. Can I keep the picture?"

Beauregard nodded his head 'yes.' He didn't trust himself to speak. How was he ever going to be able to tell them the whole story? He'd been putting it off for years, but it was finally time. He wasn't getting any younger, and they needed to understand the mistakes he'd made in the hopes that they wouldn't repeat them. Would they still feel the same way about him after they heard everything? That was a chance he was going to have to take.

Beau stood up, and for the first time he felt truly old. He looked at the handsome, caring man in front of him and thought, ' _We made him, Belle. Him and his brother. We did a good thing, even if we went about it in a strange way. God help me, I hope they can forgive me like you did.'_


	4. Patience and Grace

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 3 – Patience and Grace

Beauregard and his son rode back across the valley to Ben Maverick's ranch, their current home, without saying a word. It was the closest that father and son had felt to each other in years, and both wondered how long it would last. It was a peaceful feeling, something neither of them experienced much of these days. By the time they reached the mansion, Lily Mae was almost done with supper.

"You two were up and out early," Ben remarked as Beauregard and Bart entered the kitchen. "You goin' in to Little Bend tonight?"

"Not sure," answered the eldest Maverick. "Do you wanna go in, son?"

"Huh? What? Me?" asked Bart.

"You're the only son I've got here, aren't you?"

"Uh, sure, Pappy. Anything you want. To 'Maudes's'?"

"If you'd like," Pappy answered.

Bart looked at his father and tried to figure out exactly what was going on. Pappy had never been this agreeable, at least not as long as he could remember. "Pappy, are you feelin' alright?"

"Yes, Bart, perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"

"No reason, just wonderin'."

"I'm going to get dressed. Anything else?"

"No supper, Mr. Beau?" Lily Mae asked.

"Thanks, Lily Mae, I'm not hungry," Beauregard answered, and left the room. Ben, who'd already finished eating, followed him out.

Bart and Lily Mae looked at each other. "There's somethin' seriously wrong with that man," Lily Mae remarked. "Where'd you find him?"

"At his ranch," Bart answered carefully. "Just . . . . . . lookin' at a picture."

"What picture, if you don't mind my askin'?"

Bart reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. "This one." He removed the photo he'd gotten from Pappy that afternoon and handed it to the housekeeper.

"Ah ha. Now that's the Belle Maverick I knew. A strong, proud southern woman. Sweet as the air in springtime. But if you tried to hurt her children . . . . . "

"Why would anyone do that, Lily Mae?"

"There's all kinds a people in this world, Mr. B. Some people like to hurt others just for the fun of it. Belle wouldn't stand for none a that. If I remember right, she run her own sister off from visitin' here one time because she turned Mr. Bret over her knee and spanked him. Nobody was disciplinin' her boys 'cept for her."

"My mother had a sister?"

"Yes, sir. A younger sister named Grace. Pretty thing, but couldn't hold a candle to your momma. Belle done run her outta the valley, story was for beatin' on your brother. Now that's all I know, so don't go askin' me nothin' more. You gonna eat or be like your Pappy and starve?"

"No, Lily Mae, I'll eat supper. But give me about half of what you normally try to feed me."

Cousin Beau came bounding into the room. "Lily Mae, you can give me the other half that Bart doesn't want." He slapped Bart on the arm. "Glad you're back, Cousin Bart. Where's Cousin Bret?"

Bart looked at Beau sideways. Didn't the people that lived in this house talk to each other? "He hasn't gotten back yet."

"He didn't come back with you?" Beau sat down and took the plate that Lily Mae handed him, heaped with food. Beau had gotten the Maverick appetite, too.

"No, he took the stage. I rode back with Will Neary and Ned Southern."

"Southern. I've heard that name before. Young kid, about sixteen or seventeen?"

"Yeah, that's Ned. Except he's no kid. He can make those ponies stand up and do just about anything you want 'em ta do."

"Does he have an older brother that's a gunfighter down in San Antonio?"

Bart watched in awe as Beau ate supper. "How can you eat that much food?" he asked.

"Hungry," Beau replied. "Brother? Gunfighter?"

"I don't know. If he does he didn't talk about him."

"Well, I wouldn't either if I had one. You alright? You're not sayin' much."

Bart looked down at his food, which was basically untouched. "Don't have much to say." He pushed the plate away and looked up at Lily. "Sorry, Lily, lost my appetite." He got up from the table and left the room, going upstairs to change clothes. The longer this day went on the stranger it got. He was about to put on his shoulder holster when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, and to his surprise his Uncle Bentley entered. Ben didn't come by just to chat, so Bart knew there was something serious going on.

"Bartley." If he'd had any doubts that something was in the wind, those doubts had just disappeared. Uncle Ben never called him Bartley.

"Uncle Ben."

"There's something bothering your father."

Bart was tempted to say "No kidding," but he refrained from doing so. "That's a little obvious, Uncle Ben."

"You have to find out what it is."

Bart was stunned. "You don't know?"

"How am I supposed to find out, Bart? He won't talk to me."

"About what's bothering him?"

"About anything. I ask him questions; he gives me one-word answers. I try to eat breakfast or supper with him, he gets up and leaves. He's not angry or upset, he's just . . . . . . he's just quit, Bart. That's the best way I can describe it. Your momma's birthday's comin', and he always gets quiet this time of year, but this is way beyond that. It's like he's carryin' around some sorta burden, and he doesn't know how to put it down. He's lost weight, I can see it. Didn't you notice it when you got here?"

Ben had taken a seat on the bed when he came into the room, and Bart sat down on the chair in the corner. "Yeah, I did, but you know how Pappy is. He decides he's gettin' fat and he just quits eatin' until he doesn't think he's fat anymore. When did all this start?"

"When you and Bret left on the drive. After he got over that crap that Beau brought home with him, somethin' was different. He was different. He forgets things. He goes up to your momma's grave every day. He goes over to his ranch. He disappears for hours at a time and I have no idea where he is. He's quit flirtin' with the girls at 'Maude's.' Whatever it is, it's eatin' him alive. If this doesn't stop there's gonna be nothin' left of my brother. You hafta talk to him."

"Not me, Uncle Ben. You know he's always been closer to Bret."

The look on Ben's face was pure astonishment. "I've watched the three of you interact for dang near thirty years. Just because your brother looks like him doesn't mean he favors Bret. Don't you know how much like him you are? There's a look in his eyes, a sort of kindred spirit thing, that he only gets when he's talkin' to you. He talks to Bret because he's the oldest son, and he's just like your ma was. He listens to Beauregard, takes into consideration what it is that Beau wants, then does what he thinks is best. You? Listenin' to you is like listenin' to him thirty, forty years ago. Except I think you've got a moral compass Beauregard never had."

"Me?" Bart asked, as he shook his head. "I'm like Pappy?"

"Yes, you are," Ben answered. "Trust me, I've known him his whole life. You've got just enough of your momma in you to change you for the better. There was plenty of times Beauregard could have used . . . . . . . . . patience . . . . . grace . . . . . .a little common sense. You've got all those."

Bart continued to shake his head. "Uncle Ben, I just don't see it. I've always thought . . . . I mean I just assumed . . . . Bret was always first in Pappy's eyes."

"He loves you both, more than you can imagine. Maybe someday he'll make you understand. Until then, take my word for it. See what you can find out, would you Bart? Before he kills himself with whatever he's carryin' around?"

"Yes, sir, Uncle Ben. I'll do my best."

Ben took only moments to get to the door, and he was gone. Bart still sat, digesting everything his uncle had shared. Him, the one like Pappy? Bret's personality more like Momma's? He'd never considered that, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made.

The shoulder holster was forgotten, or ignored. He grabbed his coat, and his hat, and the derringer, which he shoved in his vest pocket, and hurried out of his room and down the hall to Pappy's door. When Pappy called "Come in," Bart merely opened the door rather than stepping inside.

"Pappy, we need to talk. Now."


	5. Four Nines in a Full Boat

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 4 – Four Nines In a Full Boat

"Pappy, we need to talk. Now."

"Right now, Bart? It won't wait any?"

The younger son shook his head vehemently. "They're all drivin' me crazy, Pappy."

"I know, son. I'm sorry. It's all my fault. It's just . . . . . . look, I picked up a telegram today. Your brother'll be home tomorrow. He and Mrs. Taylor got lucky and caught an earlier stage. You told me you could wait until Bret got home. Can you hold true to that promise?"

There was emotion in his father's voice that Bart didn't know Pappy possessed. Desperation. His father was pleading with him. Like it or not, he had given his word that he would wait until his brother was there. "Yes, sir, I can. Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Beauregard nodded, relieved that Bart was still willing to wait. That was something he'd never had – patience. He smiled at his son and slapped him on the back as he settled his hat on his head. "Good man. I'm ready if you are."

Bart held the door open as Beau exited the room, then closed it firmly behind him. The family would have to wait; he'd promised Pappy and he wasn't going back on his word. The son followed the father down the hall, then the staircase, and out to the barn. "Horses?" Bart asked, and Beau nodded 'yes.'

They were silent on the ride into Little Bend, each lost in his own thoughts. Beauregard was relieved that he didn't have to lay his whole life out in front of his son tonight; Bart apprehensive about waiting another day but cognizant of the promise he'd made to his father.

They went to 'Maude's' and were greeted by all the girls, including Doralice, who had taken over as bartender to give Harry a night off. Pappy found a poker game right away, but Bart headed for the bar. Doralice was already pouring him coffee. "Hello, handsome," she greeted him, followed by a kiss. "Welcome back. I've missed that."

Bart laughed and kissed her back, across the bar. "I missed you," he told her. It felt comfortable to be back in the bar.

"Your father looks to be in a better mood tonight," she commented. "Happy to have you back?"

"I think so," Bart answered. "You've noticed it too?"

"Everybody noticed it, Bart. Somethin's been weighin' heavy on him for weeks. He's been pleasant but distant. Like his mind was somewhere else. The girls told me his poker games suffered, too. You know that doesn't happen often."

"No, not with Pappy it doesn't. Bret's comin' back tomorrow, so maybe things'll improve even more."

"So, your brother took a stage back, huh? With Althea Taylor?"

Bart grinned. "You know it."

"How's that goin'?"

"It was . . . . . just gettin' started when I left." He reached across the bar and took her hand. "How're you doin'? No problems with the Federales?"

Doralice shook her head. "Not a sound. I hope they've decided it's not worth it."

"Anything happens, you let me know, huh? Guess I should do what I came to do. See you later?"

She smiled, glad to have him back in town. "You know it, handsome."

Bart found a table to his liking and joined the game. Two or three times he looked for Pappy, just to make sure he was in the same place before his own game got intense. The next time he checked Pappy's table was empty. He looked towards Maude's office just in time to see his father and the saloon owner disappearing behind closed doors. Maybe talking to someone not a family member would do Beau some good. Bart lost track of time as his own game heated up again, with the addition of another local gambler who was more than willing to give him a run for his money.

"Kings full," Ray Camden called, as he laid down his cards.

"Four nines," Bart countered with, and as he reached for the pot Camden pulled a Colt and aimed it across the table.

"There's no way you were dealt those cards, mister," Camden stated. The new local had his back turned to the bar and didn't see the shotgun Doralice laid quietly across the counter, aimed right between his shoulder blades.

Bart looked at Doralice and shook his head as if to say, 'Not needed.' Bobby Mercer, one of the other poker players, looked at Camden like he was crazy.

"Mister, you must be new in town."

"Yeah, so?" Camden asked.

"If you wanna stay in Little Bend you better learn somethin' real fast – this here's Bart Maverick. There's a whole family a Mavericks in Little Bend, and they're all poker players. HONEST poker players. So if there was any cheatin' goin' on at this table it was from you, and not Maverick."

Bart sat still and waited to see what Camden did. Finally the gun was put away. Mercer told the new gambler in town, "Better be awful sure who you're accusin' of cheatin', Camden. Maude don't take real well to no card sharps comin' in here and disturbin' honest players."

Ray Camden looked first at Bobby, then at Bart, and got up from his chair. "Sorry, Maverick. My mistake." He picked up his money and walked out of the saloon.

Bart turned to Mercer. "Thanks, Bobby. Doralice, you gonna let him shoot me first?"

Doralice laughed as she put the shotgun back below the bar. "I was just backin' up your reputation, handsome. You didn't need me."

Bart laughed with her, but he was a little shaken. That was the last time he came out without his own Colt, or the shoulder holster. A vest pocket was just too hard to get to when your life was being threatened. Even if someone else was willing to defend you. Bart gathered his money and stood up. "Gentlemen, thanks for the game. I think that's more than enough for me tonight." He tipped his hat to Bobby Mercer and walked over to Doralice at the bar.

"Want more coffee?" she asked.

"No, I'm done for now. I'm goin' out for a smoke, in case Pappy comes lookin'. Thanks, Doralice, for the back-up."

"It was the least I could do," she answered him.

Bart went outside into the night air and put his foot up on the hitching rail, as he had on so many previous nights in Little Bend. He pulled out a cigar and a match and struck the match on the railing, drawing on the cigar to get it lit. He smoked and wondered if there was something in the air that seemed to be making people crazy. When he was almost done with the cigar, Beauregard walked out and quietly joined him.

"Heard you had a little trouble."

Bart shook his head as he blew out smoke. "Nope. Just a misunderstanding. You and Maude have a good talk?"

"We did. She's got a real good head on her shoulders. She gave me a different perspective on things."

"Good. You seem calmer. Steadier."

Beau pulled out a cigar of his own. They stood in silence and smoked, the stillness of the night reflecting the noise coming from inside the saloon.

"Let's go back in and have some coffee. 'Maime's' will be open soon and we can go have breakfast together."

"You really want to or are you just humoring an old man?"

Bart looked at his father, right into eyes so dark they almost looked black. "I really want to, Pappy."

"Alright, son, let's do that."


	6. I'll Only Stay with you One More Night

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 5 – I'll Only Stay with you One More Night

As the stage came down the road into Little Bend, Bret leaned anxiously out the window. "Good Lord, you're as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs!" Althea exclaimed

"You would be too if you knew Pappy like I do," Bret answered her.

"Well, you're a little too old to spank."

"Maybe," Bret replied. "Age has nothin' to do with it."

Althea laughed and snuggled under his arm. She still didn't like riding on a stage, but there had been definite benefits to this trip. The biggest of which was the chance to spend several days in Bret Maverick's company for sixteen hours a day. And, as fate would have it, with no strangers in the coach to interfere. But Bret was like a different man ever since they'd boarded the stage this morning, knowing that they would be home in Little Bend today. And that meant it was time to break the news to Pappy that he wasn't coming back to Uncle Ben's house.

Out the far side of the window he could see Brother Bart standing on the hotel steps, waiting for his arrival, and it looked like . . . . . dang! Just when Bret was convinced that Bart was by himself, another figure stepped forward, into his line of sight. Pappy. Bret sighed.

"Your father?" asked Althea.

"Yep," answered the oldest Maverick son.

Before he had time to worry about it anymore, the stage pulled up to the hotel. Bart grabbed the door and pulled it open, reaching up to help Althea down. Bret followed, and couldn't believe what he was seeing. Pappy was hugging Althea. Before he had time to recover from that sight Bart had him wrapped in a typical Bret bear-hug. "It's alright, Brother Bret. The beast has been de-fanged," Bart whispered as he let go of the embrace, then turned to hug Althea. He whispered something to her, too, and she laughed.

"Pappy," Bret said, and was enveloped again in the new Maverick greeting. He stepped back and gazed at his father and brother. What had happened to the two of them? Who were these strange men hugging both him and Althea?

"Your uncle and cousin are waiting at the mansion," Pappy informed Bret. "Mrs. Taylor, can we take you to the ranch?"

"That would be most appreciated, Mr. Maverick," Althea answered, as Bret and Bart claimed the small amount of luggage the two of them had returned with. After everything was loaded, Bret helped Althea into the buggy and climbed in behind her. Bart took the reins after Pappy was seated, and they headed for the Taylor Ranch. All the way there Pappy peppered Bret and Althea with questions about the cattle drive, things that he hadn't asked Bart.

"Are you gonna do another one?"

Althea shook her head. "No, sir, there are no plans for another one."

"Especially one that big," Bret added. "Too hard to handle. We were lucky we only had one stampede."

"Two, really," interjected Bart.

"True. One from the weather and one of our own making."

"Indians?" Pappy asked.

"Yeah, Chickasaw," Bret answered. "We were real lucky both times."

"We were real good," Bart added.

The stop at the Taylor Ranch proved lengthy. Bart carried Althea's bags to the door while Bret escorted his new lady-love. It was almost fifteen minutes before Bret returned to the buggy, and he definitely had the look of a man in love.

Beauregard didn't seem in the least concerned, not even when Bret finally said, "Pappy, there's something I have to tell you."

"Yes, Bret? What is it?"

"I . . . . . .I'm not going to stay at Uncle Ben's after tonight."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to Althea's."

"Really? Are you going to marry the girl?"

That caught Bret by surprise. "Well . . . . . . maybe."

"Right now?"

"No, sir."

Bart stayed silent. This was one battle he wasn't going to get into unless absolutely necessary.

"And how is that going to look?" There was no malice or lecturing in Pappy's voice, he was simply asking questions.

"We don't care."

"We as in you and Mrs. Taylor, or we as in you?"

"What do you mean?"

Bart started humming. He didn't even want to hear what was coming.

"Was the decision made by both of you, or did you decide?"

Bret answered truthfully. "We both decided."

"And do you know what it's going to do to Mrs. Taylor's reputation? She's only been widowed for four months."

"We don't care." Bret sounded defensive and defiant.

"YOU don't care. Mrs. Taylor will certainly care. When no one will speak to her, when people cross the street to avoid running into her, when she's asked not to attend church anymore on Sunday. You have to think of the things that she hasn't, son. She's in love, she's not thinking straight."

Bret was trying to determine who this reasonable, helpful man in the front of the buggy was. Because it certainly wasn't his father. "Brother Bart, what did you do with Pappy?"

Bart laughed, and surprisingly, so did Pappy. "I'm trying to be more . . . . . helpful, and less judgmental."

"I think the only thing you're succeeding in doing right now, Pappy, is thoroughly confusing your oldest son." Bart's observation was quite astute.

"Think about this, Bret. You move in with Mrs. Taylor. God forbid, it doesn't work out and you leave. She has to stay here, with everybody gossiping about her. You're in some other part of the country. How would that make you feel?" Pappy had found a new weapon to use – and it was working. Logic and reasoning.

The rest of the way back to the big house was quiet. Pappy had given Bret some things to think about, and that's just what he was doing. When they arrived, Bart unhitched the horses and took them to the barn. At least that kept him out of the frantic hugging and kissing that Lily Mae would inflict on his brother. Then he went up to his room to take a nap. Between the late night and the early afternoon, he was worn out.

XXXXXXXX

It was dark when he woke. He lay in bed and listened for sounds, to see if he could tell who was awake and who was asleep. Finally he gave up and got out of bed and grabbed his jacket, then closed his window. There was a chill in the air. He went looking for Pappy, an unusual task for him. Nobody in Pappy's room, nobody in Bret's room. Beau's door was closed, as was Ben's, and there were no sounds coming from either room. Bart walked downstairs and went to the kitchen to find Lily Mae. She was there, with a new pot of coffee, as usual, and Bart poured a cup.

"Lily Mae, I'm hungry. Did I miss supper?"

"No, but that's only because I was holdin' it. Your father and brother went outside and I haven't seen 'em since. Sit down; I'll get you somethin' to eat."

"How long ago?" Bart asked, expecting Lily Mae to know just what he meant.

And of course she did. "Must be over an hour ago. Here, get some food in you for once, would ya?"

She handed him a plate, too full as usual, and then poured coffee. He surprised her by eating everything she put in front of him.

"My Lord, the world's comin' to an end! You ate it all!"

Bart pushed the empty plate away and picked up his coffee. "Yes, ma'am, that's what happens when I'm actually hungry."

She poured more coffee and sat down at the table next to him. "I don't know why I cook, the way people eat around here."

Bart reached over and patted her hand. "You love it, Lily, What would you do without us to complain about?"

"Go live with my daughter and complain about her?"

Bart started to laugh but stopped when the front door slammed. "Uh-oh. Not a good sign."

Pappy stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a cup and sat at the table, pouring coffee. Bart could see he was mad, but Pappy never said a word, just drank his coffee.

The silence was broken when Bart asked, "Where's Brother Bret?"

"Gone to the Taylor's, stubborn mule."

Bart and Lily Mae exchanged looks that said 'Pappy's on the warpath,' but Beauregard made not a sound. The three of them sat at the table for probably ten minutes with no words spoken before Pappy finally said, "Bartley, I have no desire to go into town tonight. Let's go upstairs and talk."

"Without Bret?" Bart asked innocently.

"Without Bret," Pappy answered succinctly.


	7. The Book of Revelations, Chapter One

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 6 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter One

"You sure you want to do this without Bret here?" Bart had to ask; Pappy had been so adamant about only telling the tale once.

"I'm sure, son. Sit down. This is gonna take some time."

Pappy had two big, comfortable chairs in his room and Bart settled into one of them. He assumed this was going to be quite the tale, as Pappy was already wearing a hole in the floor.

 _It was the summer of 1829, and Beauregard Maverick was already forty-two years old. He'd been wandering Louisiana and the rest of the South for too many years to remember, plying his trade as a gambler and general rapscallion in whichever town he'd landed in. Baton Rouge was hot and sticky, a good place to be 'from' during the summer months, but some unknown force had kept him there far longer than even he could understand. One more week, he promised himself, and he would head for cooler confines. Maybe New Orleans, where at least the gulf breezes would cool a man down and allow him to sleep in comfort. Maybe even Natchez or Vicksburg, where the heat of the day gave way to more pleasant nights._

 _For some reason that he could later only attribute to the whim of the gods, he wandered into 'The Red Palace' and started playing poker against a man named Jeremiah Grayson, who proved to be a worthy opponent. So worthy that they continued the relationship past the poker table through three or four other bars and finally a dive café named 'The Dirty Lady.'_

 _There they drank coffee and ate poorly cooked eggs, which would come back to haunt them. Grayson invited Maverick home with him, professing to have a spare room that Beau could 'sleep it off' in. When they arrived at the little house, it became evident that there was no spare room, only a bedroom that belonged to Grayson's two daughters, Isabelle and Grace. Isabelle was seventeen and Grace sixteen, and they were hustled out of their bedroom by their father before his gambling partner could change his mind and go elsewhere. Within several hours of arrival the bad eggs had come back to haunt both men, and the girls were pressed into reluctant service as nurses._

 _It was almost twenty-four hours before Beau could even open his eyes without getting nauseous. And the first thing he saw when he did open them was the most gorgeous creature God had ever seen fit to create. Isabelle was tall and dark, with smoldering brown eyes and almost black hair, and an absolutely perfect mouth. Beauregard was instantly smitten, and through the next few days as his health improved his heart crashed and burned, lost in those eyes and the perfect curvature of that mouth. Once or twice Grace came in to minister to him instead of Isabelle, and the older girls absence was like a knife to his heart. Beauregard Maverick, at the ripe old age of forty-two, was madly and passionately in love._

"Forty-two, huh, Pappy?" Bart questioned.

"Yes, Bartley, forty-two. I had a misspent youth, alright?"

 _He was in no hurry to feel better, as long as the bewitchingly beautiful Isabelle remained to take care of him. They talked about everything under the sun and quickly became friends, despite the age difference. From there it was only a short step to more than friends, and despite professing that she'd never kissed a boy before, Isabelle could drive him wild with just one taste of those perfect lips. Jeremiah was not thrilled with the idea of his beautiful daughter and the jaded gambler at first but accepted the fact that Isabelle was a full-grown woman and wanted what she wanted. Grace was enamored of the older man who was her father's friend, too, but he only had eyes for her sister._

 _Once his insides had healed from the Tango with the eggs, Beauregard moved back to his hotel room and courted Isabelle as hard as he could. Every spare minute that he wasn't playing poker was spent in her company, and even Jeremiah had to admit that the gentleman gambler was funny and smart and attentive. And lavish with gifts. When he was flush with poker winnings the presents were never-ending, when he was borderline broke he still found a way to bring her flowers and chocolates. There were fancy dinners and expensive restaurants and simple meals cooked at Jeremiah's house. Knowing that this couldn't go on much longer before he lost what little reason he had left, Beauregard finally asked her father for his just-turned eighteen-year-old daughter's hand in marriage._

 _This was not a state entered into lightly. Beau had long ago determined that marriage was not for him; he couldn't see the point in pledging to remain faithful to one woman for the rest of his life. His brother Bentley had married a sweet girl named Abigail and seemed quite content, but he wasn't Bentley. There were too many beautifully glorious women out there, blonde and brunette and redhead, short and tall and in-between, with all colored eyes and all-shaped mouths. And his intentions were to love as many of them as he possibly could._

 _Until he met Isabelle Grayson. Once he'd opened his eyes and her fiery orbs stared back at him, there was absolutely no hope and no further thought of any other woman in the world. He'd been struck by 'the thunderbolt' as the Italian immigrants tended to call it, and he had no need of ever looking further._

 _Jeremiah gave his blessing to the mismatched union of a southern lady and a gentleman gambler, and Beauregard picked the night that he would propose to the young beauty. Crawfish gumbo was her favorite dish, and Landy's served the best around. As usual, Beauregard picked Isabelle up in a buggy at seven in the evening and they were at Landy's in no time. This was a special night and Beau ordered champagne, the best he could buy, and toasted every part of Isabelle that he could see and some he could only imagine. They ate until they were about to burst and finished the meal with the perfect dessert, Creole pecan pie._

 _Beau took a detour on the way home, driving down a beautifully secluded lane that he knew well. Isabelle knew something special was happening but trusted Beau to get her home without being kidnaped. The buggy finally came to a stop under a cypress tree covered with Spanish moss, and Beauregard wrapped the reins around the dash rail._

 _He'd practiced for days, wanting to get the proposal exactly right, but when he turned to face Isabelle all the words exited his head post haste. "Isabelle, I think you know what you've come to mean to me over the last few weeks." He shook his head. "That's not right."_

" _Why isn't it right, Beauregard?" Isabelle asked innocently._

" _That's not the way I meant to say it," Beau explained. "Oh, dang. Belle, you know I'm not some fancy gentleman. I'm a gambler, born and bred, and I'm always gonna be one. But I love you like nobody in your life is ever gonna love you, and I can't go on without making you mine permanently. Would you marry me, Belle Grayson, and spend the rest of your life trying to make something decent out of me?"_

 _Belle gave a little laugh and looked at the man sitting nervously next to her in the buggy. He was too old for her; too jaded and used; too mercurial; too irresponsible; and she loved him with every fiber of her being. "What if I can't?"_

" _Can't what?" he asked, panic stricken that she meant she couldn't marry him._

" _Can't make something decent out of you?"_

" _Could you spend forty or fifty years trying before you give up?"_

" _I don't believe it will take me that long," she finally told him._

" _Does that mean yes?"_

" _Yes, Beauregard Maverick, I will marry you. Does my daddy know?"_

" _I asked him first," Beau told her._

" _He said yes?"_

" _He did indeed."_

 _She smiled for real, pleased that her father understood her heart. "When do you want to get married?"_

" _Is tomorrow too soon?"_

 _That sent her into fits of laughter. "Tomorrow? Are you serious?"_

" _The day after?"_

" _Beauregard, if we're going to have a proper wedding I need some time to plan it."_

" _Will I still be alive by that time?" He was kidding with her, but he wanted this wedding sooner rather than needed her in his arms for more than five minutes at a time, and that wasn't going to happen until they were married._

" _I need at least a week," came her reply._

 _He sighed. "I can wait a week."_

" _And I want it in church."_

 _Another sigh. "Yes, ma'am. Promise me nothing will come crashing down on my head if I walk into a church?" He hadn't been in a church of any kind since he was ten years old. Not even for Bentley's wedding. He'd waited out front for that one to be over. Bentley was not happy._

" _I'm not making any promises that I can't keep."_

' _Enough of the banter,' Beauregard thought. He put his hands on Belle's shoulders and kissed her, a long, slow, tender kiss, and pulled her close until he could whisper in her ear, "I love you, Belle Grayson. I will until the day I die."_

Bart sat and listened to the emotion in his father's voice. One thing he had NEVER doubted, the love that Pappy had for his mother. Now that he was old enough to understand that emotion he realized how difficult these memories must be for Pappy. "Wanna take a break?" he offered, real concern in his voice.


	8. The Book of Revelations, Chapter Two

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 7 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Two

"Wanna take a break?" Bart offered, real concern in his voice.

"No, Bartley, I don't want to take a break. But I would like some coffee. Can you get me some?"

"Yes, sir, Pappy," Bart answered, and he went down to get two cups from Lily Mae. When he returned Pappy was seated, having had enough of walking the floor in circles.

"Thank you, son. Sit back down. We've got a long night in front of us."

 _On August 26, 1829, in the little Sacred Congregation Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Beauregard Jefferson Maverick married Isabelle Jeannette Grayson. Isabelle's father, Jeremiah, and sister, Grace Lee, were in attendance, as was Beauregard's brother, Bentley, and his wife, Abigail._

 _Beauregard was nervous and fidgety, waiting for the roof to cave in or lightning to hit him any moment. At the last second he thought 'Run, Beau, run!' but then he looked at Isabelle and stood stock still. If he was ever to possess this most ravishing of God's creatures he was going to have to marry her, and possess her he must. As soon as the preacher said "I now pronounce you man and wife," Beauregard picked her up in his arms and carried her out the door, stopping only to deposit her in his buggy. Then it was straight to his hotel room, where he took all afternoon and night to make slow, glorious love to his new bride. Not only was the rest of her as beautiful as her face, she was as passionate as Beau and eager to be his wife in every sense of the word._

 _By the next morning they were exhausted and fast asleep in each other's arms. Still sleeping well into the afternoon, when Belle finally woke she and Beau had to hurriedly dress to get to her father's for dinner. Her new husband tried to convince her they didn't need to go and should stay right where they were, taking up where they'd left off in the morning. She laughed and pulled him out of bed, unwillingly, finally getting him to dress only because she promised they'd come straight back from dinner and start all over again._

 _They were laughing and happy at Jeremiah's house. Grace had prepared dinner for the newlyweds and it was a fine meal, as good as any Isabelle had ever cooked. She'd taught Grace well, and Beauregard remarked that Grace would make someone an excellent wife._

 _Right then and there, one of the problems that would plague them for years began. The drawback was the only man Grace was interested in being wed to had just married her sister. Grace watched Isabelle and her new husband and made up her mind that someday she would have Beau Maverick's attention and love, if only for a short time._

 _And so the Maverick's married life began, with them crazy in love with each other and Beau determined to make it work. He continued playing poker in Baton Rouge but soon grew tired of the heat, and the stickiness of the air, and the dirt, and the noise, and a million other things that began to bother him. Long before fall arrived Beau had convinced his bride that they needed to venture further south, and Belle dutifully followed her husband to New Orleans. That kept him happy for a while, but soon New Orleans began to present the same problems that Baton Rouge had._

 _Staying in the one place for more than a few days was starting to wear on the gambler, and his moods turned progressively darker. Belle was sure that a bit of traveling would do him good, so she sent him off to Biloxi, Mississippi, and from there he went to Mobile, and then north to Hattiesburg and all the little towns in between there and Natchez. Finally, Beau could stand being alone no longer and sent for his wife. Belle resisted visiting Natchez and went home to Baton Rouge. Imagine Beauregard's surprise when he opened his hotel room door, not to his beautiful young wife but to her younger sister. He insisted she go home immediately and she resisted, reasoning that she was simply there to visit her brother-in-law._

 _Beau refused to let Grace into his hotel room and sent a telegram to Jeremiah in Baton Rouge, asking if he knew that Grace had come to 'visit' him uninvited. There was no response, but two days later Belle arrived to reclaim her husband. She pulled Grace from her hotel room and sent her home to their father, with instructions to 'find her own man.'_

 _Beau and Belle had a passionate reunion and vowed not to separate again. Within two months Belle was with child, and Beauregard was thrilled beyond words that he and Belle were going to be parents. They went back to Baton Rouge and bought a small house, not far from Jeremiah and Grace, and truly settled into married life. Beauregard played poker every night and won steadily, giving Belle money to put aside towards the time the baby was born and they might need things they currently didn't have. Her life as an expectant mother wasn't easy; it was a difficult pregnancy on its best days and there were times when she was so sick that she couldn't get out of bed._

 _Beau endured every ache and pain with her, and was so tired and worn out that he walked around in a daze most of the time. Playing poker at night and trying to nurse a sick and heavy with child woman during the day did nothing for his moods or psyche. He slept little, and ate less, and smoked too many cigars. The doctor worried for the health of the baby and the mother, and Beau hung on by a thread._

 _Belle's nausea never abated, and the more her belly swelled, the more apparent it became that there was something wrong. On the brink of exhaustion and still trying to win at poker every night, Beauregard left for 'work' one night when Belle begged him not to. Their cash reserves were down to almost nothing, and he had to make enough money to feed them._

 _When Beauregard returned the next morning, having lost almost everything they had, he found Belle on the floor and bleeding heavily. He ran for the doctor but it was too late, their little girl was born dead. Belle blamed herself for having been so sick for so long; Beau blamed himself for refusing to stay home one night, and they blamed each other for everything. They named her Elizabeth Josephine and buried her in the graveyard of the Sacred Congregation Church._

 _Isabelle was still sick, partly with the remains of the difficult pregnancy and partly with guilt, and stayed in bed most of the day. Beauregard couldn't sleep in the bed when he was home and was so tired he started falling asleep at the poker table. Soon his habit caused almost every saloon around to ask him not to come back if he couldn't stay awake to play the game. They stopped talking to each other, and could barely stand to be in the same room together. Beau started drinking and spent his days in one saloon or another, with a whiskey glass in front of him. Belle began spending all her time at church._

 _Their marriage was broken by grief, and neither knew what to do to fix it. Beau came home drunk one night and reached for his wife and she turned him away. All he wanted was some human contact from her, to feel her arms around him so they could pretend for a few minutes that everything was the way it used to be. She couldn't stand to have him touch her, somehow it seemed dirty after their tremendous loss. When he tried to wipe the tears from her face, she slapped him, and he picked his hat up off the table and left. She didn't see him for three days._

 _He went to the 'Baton Rouge Arms' Hotel and slept for twenty-three hours. When he woke, he decided that he could no longer drink and play poker at the same time, and he had to give up one activity or the other. He chose to remain a gambler, and never touched liquor again. He started playing poker once more, sober and awake, and once again his skills found him winning decent money._

 _He returned to the house at the end of three days, dry and well-rested, and took several hundred dollars with him to give Belle. She wasn't there and he left the money on the table with a note that read 'My darling Isabelle – This is wrong. We've both made mistakes and I am sorry for my part in them. You are my wife and I love you. I want to come home and work it out. I am staying in room 256 at the Baton Rouge Arms. Please let me know if you feel the same and I will be back immediately. All my love, Beauregard.'_

 _He went to 'The Red Palace' and played poker. When he got back to the hotel there was no message. He waited two more days and heard nothing from her. In desperation, he went to her father's house to talk to Jeremiah and found Grace instead. Belle's little sister had grown into a lovely young woman, willing to hear his story. All he wanted was some comfort, some understanding, and he explained it all to Grace. She listened to everything he had to say and offered her sympathy, and he finally broke down and grieved for his lost Elizabeth. She held his head and dried his tears, and then did more than dry his tears._

 _It was wrong, and he knew it, but it had been so long since the woman he truly loved had even looked at him, much less touched him and held him close, and he succumbed to Grace's temptation. Make no mistake, he was a willing participant in the biggest mistake of his life, and he knew it was wrong but could not deny himself a few minutes of comfort in a woman's arms. And when it was over all he was left with was disgust and self-loathing._

 _He walked the streets of Baton Rouge all night, wanting nothing more than to erase the last twenty-four hours from his memory. Once dawn had broken he knew he had to see Belle, tell her the truth and beg her for forgiveness. If he was very lucky she would forgive him and they could make a fresh start; if he wasn't, he might lose her forever._

 _It started out well enough and quickly went wrong. She was home and seemed to be in a better frame of mind._

" _I got the money you left. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you faster; I was with my father in Natchez for a few days. I'm glad you want to work everything out, I do too. My dad made me look at things from a different perspective, and I think I understand things a little better now. I was blaming myself and you for things we had no control over, and I'm sorry for that. Beauregard, what's wrong? I thought this would make you happy. Was I wrong? Have I pushed you away forever? Talk to me, please."_

 _He was too ashamed to look at her and he turned away and faced the wall. In a trembling voice, he finally said the words out loud. "I spent last night with your sister Grace."_

 _An almost inhuman strangled sound escaped from her throat, and as he turned to face her, she moved away from him._

" _Get out, Beauregard." It was said quietly, dispassionately, with no warmth or emotion. Not revulsion, hatred, or pity, which was surprising even to her._

" _Belle, please, listen to me – "_

" _Get out, Beauregard." Now she turned again to face him and saw the tears running down his cheeks. It didn't matter. At that moment she was numb; wounded so badly she could no longer feel anything. And even though all she wanted to do was hurt him the way he'd hurt her, there was nothing left inside her to hurt him with._

" _If you'll just let me explain – "_

" _Get out, Beauregard." It was like a mantra she kept repeating over and over. It was easy – all he had to do was walk out the door; she would close it behind him and be done with him forever. But for some reason he wouldn't heed the simple words, and continued to stand in front of her like Chester Riley's old hound dog used to. She could pick up something and throw it at him, but she didn't have the energy. For some reason the few simple words he'd said to her – "I spent last night with your sister Grace" – had taken not only her breath and her emotions but all her strength._

 _He took two steps forward and reached for her, she took two steps backward and evaded his grasp. Then she saw it – her way out. His derringer lay on the table, right next to her. He took another step and she grabbed the small gun and pointed it at him._

 _She said it one more time. "Get out, Beauregard."_

 _He put his hands up in front of him and his dark eyes flashed at her. "Put the gun down, Isabelle. You're not going to shoot me."_

 _That's where he was wrong. She pulled the trigger on the derringer and saw him stagger as the shot hit its mark. A blood spot appeared rapidly on his left shoulder and he grabbed for it and cried out, staring at her as if he'd seen the devil incarnate. Without another word of protest he grabbed his coat and rushed past her and out the door, never looking back. She set the gun down on the table and a smile crept slowly across her lips. "And stay out," she called to the closed door, relieved that she'd finally gotten him to leave._

Bart stared at his father, a look of sheer horror on his face. "She shot you? Momma shot you?"

Beau nodded his head slowly. "She sure did, son. Just glad derringers only had one shot in those days. Otherwise you and your brother never woulda been born."

Bart put his head in his hands. So many things went through his mind – he hated his father at that exact moment, and understood perfectly how Pappy felt, abandoned and forsaken, alone in his grief, unloved and unwanted by the woman he adored.

How could he sleep with his wife's sister? How could Belle hate him enough to shoot him? Worse than that, how could she ever forgive him? How could he forgive himself?

Bart ran his hands through his hair and looked up at Pappy. His father sat with his eyes on the floor, a look of pure disgust on his face, and at that moment he realized that the retelling of the events was almost as painful as having lived through it the first time. The window caught his eye and he saw the sunlight. Morning. Had it really taken all night to tell the story thus far?

"Pappy?" There was no response, almost as if Beauregard hadn't heard him. "Father?"

The unfamiliar endearment caught Beau's attention, and his head snapped up. "Huh? What?"

"Let's go down and get some breakfast. I think we both need a break."

"Ah. Yes. A break would be good. Thank you." Beau sighed and stood up, and Bart saw him for what he was - a sad, lonely old man, reliving the worst time of his life. The hatred he'd felt for a moment dissipated and was gone, and his heart broke instead.

"Come on, Pappy. Let's go." Bart walked to his father and helped him out of the chair, then put his arm around the old man's shoulders. "We'll ask Lily Mae to make your favorites, flapjacks." He hooked his arm through his father's and guided him out of the room, suddenly feeling old himself.


	9. Time Out

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 8 – Time Out

Lily Mae took one look at father and son and knew something difficult and complicated had been going on. Obviously they hadn't been to Little Bend. Yet both had the look of men who had been 'ridden hard and put away wet.'

She didn't have to be asked, just set two cups down on the table and poured coffee into both. "Is this a flapjack mornin'?" she asked, and Bart nodded in the affirmative. She took a good look at Beauregard; he didn't look well. "Mr. Beau, are you alright?"

The oldest Maverick looked up slowly from his coffee. "Digging up secrets long buried is hard work, Lily Mae."

She thought about things in her own life that she would like to see stay buried. "Yes, sir, it is."

"Did Ben and Beau go to town last night, Lily?" Bart asked.

"No Mr. B, they did not. I don't know why. But Mr. Bret did come home. He's in bed asleep."

"Hmmmpf. He can stay there." Pappy was still mad at his oldest for leaving last night to go see Althea Taylor.

"Pappy. Isn't that rather like the pot calling the kettle black?"

Beauregard shook his head. "No. No. No. Well, sort of. But no."

Bart burst out laughing, and Pappy chuckled a little himself. Lily Mae set plates down in front of Bart and Beauregard, and then one for herself. 'What?" she asked. "Flapjacks sounded good."

Bart laughed again and dug in. "Pappy, I'm in need of some sleep after this. Can we continue our journey later today?"

Beauregard had his mouth full and nodded. "Sounds good," he got out after swallowing. "I could use some shut-eye."

Having agreed on that, all three ate their breakfasts, lost in thought.

XXXXXXXX

Bentley and Beau woke about the same time and met each other in the hallway. "Good morning, father," Beau's usual greeting issued forth, and Ben responded.

"How'd you sleep, son?'

"Not especially well. Too much to digest, I assume. That was quite a tale you told me last night."

Ben had stayed home last night to tell his son what he knew of the Beauregard/Belle saga. His brother had finally informed him of his intent to tell Bart the whole story and gave Ben the go-ahead to fill Beau in. Bentley wasted no time explaining everything as he knew it to his son, and Beau had sat and listened, alternately amused, horrified, confused and shocked. The story had served to explain a lot about his uncle to Beau, and this morning he had a much clearer picture of the man and his life.

"There's more, you know, but I explained all that I know of it. Anything else, you have to ask Beauregard about directly."

"That's quite enough, thank you," his son replied. "But it certainly makes things a lot more understandable."

"Yes, it clears up a lot of questions, I know. I wasn't about to explain any of it until Beauregard gave me permission to tell it since it's his story and not mine. I would imagine it's been quite a shock to Bart, as well."

Beau had a quizzical expression on his face as he asked, "How much of it does Bret know?"

"I've no idea," his father replied. "Beauregard told him something, years ago, but I don't know what. Probably not as much as Bart will know when this is all said and done. No one ever accused my brother of being a logical man, having to explain this more than once."

"I don't think you can blame Uncle Beau for that one," his namesake offered. "Bret kind of forced his hand when he left last night. At least he had the good sense to come home."

"When was that?" his father questioned. "I didn't hear him."

"Somewhere around three in the morning. That's the advantage of having a room in the front of the house. You always know who's coming and going."

"Well, son, how about some food? Or do you think Lily Mae's given up on us?"

"Not Lily Mae. Never Lily Mae. She knows us too well."

XXXXXXXX

Later that afternoon Maude Donovan looked up from her balance sheet to see a familiar figure standing in her doorway. "Bart Maverick! Come on in. Or were you waitin' for an invitation?"

Bart laughed and sauntered into the office, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, my!" Maude exclaimed. "Should I be frightened or flattered?"

"Both. Or neither. I came to see Doralice, but I'm glad you're here."

Maude shook her head. "Such is my life. Running in second place to my daughter. Again. Have a seat, handsome. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, Maude. I wanted to say 'thank you' for whatever advice you gave Pappy the other night. He seems to have taken It to heart."

Maude watched the man in front of her for a moment before answering. "He told you the story?"

"He started it. We talked all night – he talked all night – and I got the first part. To be continued tonight."

Maude sighed. "That's a good thing. Secret's that long forgotten have a habit of weighin' you down as you get old. Better to clear all the junk outta the head when you get to our age."

"Maude, that's a gross exaggeration and you know it. Pappy's at least twice your age."

She shook her head, refuting what he'd just said. "Age is just a number, Bart. Some of us get old faster than others."

"You? Never happen. Pappy? I think he was born old. But I owe you a debt of gratitude, Maude. Not just for convincing Pappy to talk to me. But for giving him some peace about it. Your support really helped, and for that I'm grateful."

Maude reached across the desk and took one of his hands in hers. "After what you did for me? Bart, you brought my daughter back to me. Alive. And then returned my fifteen thousand dollars? There's nothing in the world that I can do for you that's big enough to repay you. So just say 'thank you, Maude,' and let it go."

"Thank you, Maude."

They laughed as the door to the office opened. The next thing they heard was a familiar voice to both of them.

"Shame on you, Mother, I claimed him. He's mine." Doralice laughed at her own joke.

Maude let go of Bart's hand. "Drat. Lost another one to the youngster."

Bart stood and put his hat back on. "Thanks again, Maude. If there's ever anything you need – "

Maude nodded towards her daughter. "I've got everything I need, right there."

Bart walked to the doorway and took Doralice by the elbow. "Come out here, missy, we need to talk."

"Oh dear, what have I done now?" She walked over behind the bar to pour Bart a cup of coffee, but he waived her off.

"Not a thing to worry about. I just wanted you to know, I won't be in for a while. Pappy and I are in the middle of a long overdue somethin', and I'm not comin' in until we're done."

"A father/son thing?" She asked, not wanting to pry.

"Just that," Bart told her. "I'll be back and take you to dinner. And whatever else strikes our fancy."

She raised an eyebrow, a trick she'd learned from Bart. "Ooooh, that sounds exciting. I can think of a few things."

"I'll just bet you can," and he leaned across the bar and kissed her playfully. "Hold that thought."

He tipped his hat and left the bar. Doralice stood and watched him go, then sighed. She heard her mother behind her. "Don't even be thinkin' that, daughter. You're not the woman that's gonna get him to settle down."

Doralice sighed again. "I know, Mother, I know."


	10. The Book of Revelations, Chapter Three

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 9 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Three

Once supper was finished, Ben and Beau went upstairs to get ready for poker in Little Bend. Bret sat drinking his coffee and waited to see if Pappy was going into town or not. Bart took his cup and went out onto the porch of the house, wanting to give his brother and father time to talk to each other. Whether they would or not was up to them.

"You going in to play poker tonight, Pappy?" Bret finally asked.

"Nope," his father answered, as briefly as possible.

"Then I'm going to see Althea," Bret responded.

"Do what you want," Beau answered.

"Pappy – "

"Yes, Bret?"

There was no sense talking to his father right then, and Bret knew it. As soon as the response had been "Yes, Bret?" instead of "Yes, son?" he didn't need to go any further. Pappy was still upset with him, and best not push it any. He got up from the table and rested a hand on his father's shoulder as he walked behind him, then continued out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Pappy sighed. At least they didn't have another fight.

Beauregard took his cup with him and adjourned to the porch, where his youngest son had taken up residence. Bart watched his father sit down in the rocker next to him, but the expression on his face didn't change.

"You still not talkin' to Bret?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"That disgruntled scowl you have on your face is a pretty good indication."

"He'd rather spend time with that girl than his own family."

"He thinks he's in love with 'that girl,' Pappy."

Beauregard snorted. "He doesn't know what love is."

"Neither did you, from what you said last night."

"That was different and I did too."

"You in the mood to continue the story?"

"Once everyone's gone, Bartley. This is not the kind of story I wish to share with the entire county."

"Yes, sir," Bart answered, and went back to rocking. It was another hour before Bret, dressed for a visit to his latest lady, then Ben and Beau, dressed for a night of poker, walked past them on the front porch and went to the barn to saddle their horses. Bart heard Noble whinny and knew the gelding was unhappy that everyone seemed to be leaving but him.

After the last horse was gone, Beau turned to his son. "Where did I stop?"

"Momma shot you and you left."

"Oh, yes. An ugly incident, at best."

 _It took over a month for Belle's gunshot to heal, and Beauregard stayed clear of her the whole time. He ran into Jeremiah twice at 'The Red Palace' and once at 'The Dirty Lady.' All three times he tried to talk to his father-in-law, but it quickly became apparent that the elder Grayson wanted nothing to do with him. Finally, Beauregard cornered him one night at 'Minnie's Rouge Club' and Jeremiah had no alternative._

" _What do you want, Beauregard?" Grayson asked._

" _I want to know how Belle is," Beau stated._

" _She's fine," was answered tersely._

" _Is she still at the house?"_

" _Yes, she is. And I wouldn't recommend going by to see her, either."_

 _Beau sighed audibly. He'd already figured that out for himself. "I'm going to New Orleans for a while."_

 _Jeremiah nodded. "Good, then Isabelle won't have to worry about running into you."_

" _I still love her, Jeremiah."_

" _Do you? You've a funny way of showing it."_

" _I made a terrible, unforgivable mistake. Belle wasn't responsible for that, but she contributed to it."_

 _Grayson's attitude seemed to soften somewhat. "Isabelle has accepted her responsibility for her part in the situation."_

" _Then why won't she see me?"_

" _Beau, you lost a child. She lost a child, her husband, and her sister, all at one time. It's going to take her longer to get over it."_

" _Will she? Will she ever get over it?"_

" _That's a question I can't answer."_

" _Can't or won't?"_

" _Can't. Look, I understand what happened. We all make mistakes. She's so heartbroken that she doesn't see that yet. Give her some time. She's agreed to teach school this year, maybe that will help."_

" _Alright, Jeremiah. If you think that's best. But I'm not gonna give up. I love her. I'll be back and we'll see what happens then. Will you give her this?" Beau took almost two-thousand dollars out of his wallet and gave it to Grayson. "I'll send her more from New Orleans. Make her keep it, please?"_

 _Jeremiah nodded and left. New Orleans had never crossed Beau's mind, but now that he'd said it, it sounded like an excellent idea. Maybe some separation of space would do both of them good. Little did he know how long it would be before he saw Isabelle Grayson Maverick again._

"You gave up awful easy," Bart commented.

"No, I didn't," Pappy answered. "I stayed in town for another month. I hid around the corner from the house and watched her leave for school every morning. I watched her leave the school every afternoon. She never saw me, but I saw her plenty. The more time that went by, the better she looked. I didn't play poker, I was too busy watching Belle. Finally, I had to leave for New Orleans; I knew if I stayed in Baton Rouge I'd never quit looking around all the corners for her."

 _Beau was in New Orleans for three months. There were so many places to play poker, and he played in every single one. After he left New Orleans, he went to Montgomery, Alabama for a while, then on to Charleston, South Carolina to visit his brother Bentley and Bentley's wife, Abigail. Then he spent time with brother Micah, who encouraged him to do whatever was necessary to resume his marriage to Isabelle._

 _Almost a year after he'd left Baton Rouge he returned, none the worse for wear and considerably better off financially. The first thing he did was go to the house that he and Bell had purchased, and he was distraught to find it burned to the ground. Then he went to the house that Jeremiah and Grace resided in, and it was empty and abandoned._

 _He began an all-out search for any or all of them. It took a while, but he finally located Grace; she'd married a blacksmith and was living next door to the blacksmith shop. Her married name was Grace Chapman. He couldn't find anyone else and he finally gave in to desperation and went to see her one afternoon._

 _It was a lovely little house, but he felt extremely odd knocking on the front door. Grace answered the door, with flour in her hair and on her hands, but she opened the door wide to him and smiled. "Come in, Beauregard. When did you get back into town? Come in, come in, don't just stand there. Come in and meet Dylan, my husband. He's home having lunch right now."_

 _Hat in hand, Beauregard stepped inside the parlor. The house was as charming inside as it was outside. He was nervous, and it showed, but it didn't seem to faze Grace in the least. She wiped her hands on her apron and then took it off, ushering him to a chair. "Dylan, come in here and meet somebody."_

 _In walked a man most obviously a blacksmith. Big and muscular, he was easily twenty years younger than Beau. Good-looking in a rough sort of way, he shook hands willingly._

" _Dylan, this is Beauregard Maverick, my sister Isabelle's husband. Beauregard, this is my husband, Dylan Chapman."_

" _Grace, I have to go back to work. I've got two horses to shoe this afternoon. Nice to meet you, Mr. Maverick." He kissed Grace on the cheek and was gone out the front door._

" _Quite . . . . . large," commented Beau._

" _He's a sweetheart," Grace replied. "Well, it's been quite a while. Did you recently get back into Baton Rouge?"_

" _Yes, I just came back from Charleston and I went by the house. Both houses. What happened?"_

 _Grace shook her head. "Isabelle left for school one morning and forgot to turn off the kerosene lamp. The cat jumped up and knocked it over, and the house was gone in a matter of minutes. She moved back in with Poppa after I got married. They just moved_ to _Vermilionville* two months ago. Isabelle was offered a teaching position there. A paid position. And she took it. Didn't you know?"_

 _Beau shook his head 'no.' "Did she say anything . . . . I mean, about me? Anything at all?"_

" _No, Beauregard. Not a word about you."_

 _He sat there for a minute before asking her, "Does your husband know?"_

" _Know what? Oh, you mean, about us? No, of course not. You're not going to tell him, are you?"_

 _He shook his head. "No." He stood up to go. "Vermilionville*? That's where she went?"_

" _That's it. Are you going after her?"_

" _Of course. She's my wife."_

 _Grace said nothing else, just held the door open as he left. He gave her one last look as he went through the door; he couldn't believe that he had thrown his marriage away for . . . . . for that._

"Wait, Pappy. The cat caused the fire?"

"Yes, Bartley, the cat caused the fire. Why?"

Bart thought back to another time, and another cat: ' _One of the barn cats ran out of what was left of the structure and across the yard, back to his real home. Samantha Crawford shook her head and said, "Jackson. Always trying to go where he doesn't belong." She thought for a minute and then asked, "Was there a lamp left somewhere?"_ _Bret nodded, and managed to choke out, "Bart's room. Me." "You left a light in Bart's room? So he could see if he woke up? That's it, isn't it? I forgot to warn you about Jackson. He gets in – got in – the house whenever he could. I'm sure it was Jackson." Sam sat between the Maverick brothers, on the cold, hard ground, and the reality of what was just drawing to a conclusion set in, and she began to cry. She looked at Bart and could read the anguish on his face.'_

"Samantha lost a house the same way. A misplaced lamp and a cat. Seems kind of coincidental, doesn't it?"

"Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe not."

The moon was out and there was more than a chill in the air; it was almost cold. "Let's go in, son, I need some coffee and a warm room."

"I'll start a fire, Pappy. I'm sure Lily Mae left coffee on the stove."

"I'll check. Get the fire nice and hot, Bartley. These old bones feel a real chill tonight."

' _I wonder if it's the chill in the air or the chill in the story he's tellin,_ ' thought Bart.

* Vermilionville was renamed Lafayette in 1884


	11. The Book of Revelations, Chapter Four

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 10 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Four

Once Bart got the fire going it was pleasantly warm inside. As anticipated, there was a pot of coffee on the stove, and Beauregard brought it into the main room and poured two cups, one for each of them. Bart took the pot from his father and walked it back to the kitchen, then returned with a spare blanket Lily kept there for just such an occasion. He laid it across his father's lap and tucked it in around his legs so that Beau would stay warm.

There was genuine affection in Beauregard's voice. "Thank you, son."

Bart simply smiled and sat in the other chair.

 _Almost three days later Beau arrived in Vermilionville. It was growing rapidly, and he had no idea where to start looking other than the schools. One at a time he checked every schoolhouse he could find but had no luck; he began haunting the saloons at night looking for Jeremiah Grayson. It took him almost four months before he finally tracked Jeremiah down. It happened unexpectedly one night when he was almost ready to leave the saloon._

 _He was sitting in a better poker parlor called the 'Louisiana Gentlemen's Club' and the only reason he was still there had nothing to do with Isabelle or her father. He'd been watching a local card sharp named Ransom Adams all night, trying to catch just what it was that Adams was doing with the cards and he was frustrated that he'd been unable to spot the problem. He bowed out of the game but stayed to watch a little while longer and finally caught just how it was that Adams was able to maneuver the deck. That was a new one to him and he was determined to make sure he understood it well enough to duplicate it. He just about had it when Grayson walked in._

 _Beau shifted to stand behind another man at the bar so that Jeremiah couldn't see him and watched. Grayson took the seat that Beau had recently vacated, sitting with his back to Beauregard. He drank coffee and watched Jeremiah fall prey to Ransom just the way he had at first, for almost two hours. When it appeared Grayson had lost just about everything to Adams, he picked himself up and left the parlor, with Beau far enough behind him to avoid being seen. Three blocks down and two blocks over, Grayson headed into a small house and closed the door behind him._

 _The next morning found Beau still watching the house, determined to see if Isabelle lived there, too. Finally the door opened and there she stood, just as bewitchingly beautiful as the first time he'd opened his eyes and found her in front of him. She looked taller and was definitely thinner, and her long black hair was piled neatly on top of her head in a bun. She walked out onto the porch of the little house and across the yard, turning the opposite way he'd come last night._

 _About a quarter of a mile away the schoolhouse stood, in desperate need of repairs. Windows were broken, boards needed to be replaced, the steps were unsteady. There was an unseen hole in the roof that leaked into a bucket sitting on the schoolroom floor in a corner. She went up the steps and unlocked the front door, leaving it open wide for the students to arrive._

 _Beauregard had an idea, and he hurried back to his hotel room to check the money he kept hidden behind the mirror. Almost sixteen-hundred dollars, enough to keep him going for quite some time without playing poker. He had a plan in mind; all he had to do was execute it._

 _For the next several weeks he slept during the day and made repairs on the schoolhouse at night. One of the many skills that Beau had learned just enough of to get by was carpentry, and he put those skills to good use as he worked on Belle's little school. He replaced the old and rotting boards in the building proper, then repaired the steps and the roof. The windows were the last thing he replaced; they were a little harder to deal with and took a bit more time. Finally he built her a new desk._

 _Isabelle had no idea who was making the repairs on her schoolroom, but she was grateful for whoever it was. No more skinned knees on the steps, no more shivering inside while trying to teach the students. And when it rained! It stayed gloriously dry inside. Her unknown benefactor was an angel in disguise._

 _His hands were cut and bruised, not at all like the well-groomed gamblers hands he'd always kept, when he was done with the repairs. Then and only then was he ready to reveal himself to the young schoolmarm, and he prepared himself like a new bridegroom for the wedding night. A bath, a haircut and shave at the barber shop, clean clothes, and by late afternoon he was ready to go. He traveled back to the schoolhouse, now in much better repair, and waited as the children ran out the front door at the end of the day. When he was sure that the last child was gone, he walked nervously up the steps and in the door._

 _Belle was seated at the desk he'd built for her and looked up as soon as she heard his steps. 'A good sign,' he thought, as the expression on her face didn't change into one of anger or disgust. She was the first to speak. "Hello, Beauregard."_

" _Isabelle."_

" _How did you find me?"_

" _It wasn't easy."_

" _Grace?"_

" _Eventually, yes. I met her husband. He's quite . . . . . . impressive."_

" _Dylan's a good soul. And he adores Grace. What are you doing here?"_

" _I came to see you, Isabelle."_

" _Why, Beauregard?"_

" _I love you, Isabelle."_

 _She said nothing for a moment while she sat there and watched him. He stood stock still, afraid to even breathe. Slowly she put down her pen and pushed her chair back. Then she stood and looked right at him. "That seems to be_ _your_ _problem, Beauregard."_

 _He felt like she'd shot him all over again. Did that mean_ _she_ _no longer loved_ _him_ _? But he didn't have to ask the question – he could read it on her face. Beau turned to go. No sense in staying there if she didn't love him._

 _Something caught her eye and she suddenly said, "Stop."_

 _He turned back around to face her and she stepped towards him. She paused right in front of him, staring down and focusing on his hands. His bruised, battered and cut up hands, not at all the beautifully manicured hands of a gambler. In that instant she knew who'd made all the repairs on her schoolhouse, and never said a word about it. And the mask that she'd worn on her face for months cracked, then broke, and she smiled at him._

 _He let out a breath, slowly, and smiled back. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she kissed him back, the hurt and pain and months between them melting away with each caress._

 _He was afraid to let her go, to allow her to breathe, almost as if a breath would erase the fragile peace they'd just found. And at that moment he was sure of her love._

The front door creaked open and Bret walked in. He was startled to see his father and brother sitting in the main room, in front of the fire, at four o'clock in the morning. To top it off, it looked as if he'd interrupted something, although he wasn't sure exactly what they could have been discussing at this time of night.

The expression on Pappy's face was one of pure ecstasy, and Bret couldn't begin to imagine what had occurred to put it there. Bart looked normal, if a little on the 'giddy' side, almost as if he'd just heard the best news in the world. "Pappy. Bart. Did I interrupt something?

Father and youngest son exchanged looks, and Bart's expression changed to that of a sheepish grin. "Nope. Not a thing," he answered. Pappy's look was now nothing more than a slightly bemused expression, as he watched his oldest son's confusion. He was tempted to ask if Bret had enjoyed himself, but that question would have been redundant, given the look that had been on his face when he first entered the house.

"You two are up kinda late, aren't you? Or did you go into town tonight?"

Beauregard was slow to answer, but he eventually did. "No, Bret, I've just been telling your brother some things I should have told him a long time ago. Things I wanted to explain to you, too, but you had other plans. I'm sorry you haven't been here to hear them."


	12. The Book of Revelations, Chapter Five

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 11 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Five

"I've just been telling your brother some things I should have told him a long time ago. Things I wanted to explain to you, too, but you had other plans. I'm sorry you haven't been here to hear them."

Bret was stunned by Pappy's answer to his question. He was the oldest son, and Pappy had always told him everything before he shared it with Bart. It was quite a jolt to find that hadn't happened in this case. If that was the reason Beau wanted him to stay home rather than spend the evenings with Althea, he'd totally misread his father. "I didn't know . . . . . I'm sorry, Pappy. I thought you . . . . . I mean I . . . . . I didn't understand."

Pappy let the hurt and disappointment he felt show for the first time in a long time. "I tried to explain it to you, Bret. I really did. You didn't want to hear what I had to say."

"I . . . . . I'm sorry I disappointed you, Pappy. I was wrong. If you're not done, can I hear the rest of it?"

Now there was only sadness in Beauregard's eyes. "No, Bret, to understand what's left, you have to know what came before. And I'm not going back to the beginning now; that's not fair to your brother. Some other time, son."

Bart was torn. He loved his brother, more than anything else in his life, and he hated to see him hurt. But a very minute part of him was overjoyed that his father was going to keep this review of his life and misdeeds between the two of them, and not include Bret in the telling. And the guilt set in almost immediately, for delighting in the fact that this was a small part of Pappy and his life that belonged only to Bart, not to be shared.

"Alright," Bret said wearily and headed for the staircase. "Goodnight, Pappy, Brother Bart."

"Night, Bret."

"Goodnight, Son."

 _Once again Beauregard courted Isabelle, this time by word and deed rather than presents. He bought a buggy and picked her up every morning, taking her to the school, and every afternoon, taking her back home. He went to church with her on Sunday mornings and never complained. He accompanied her when she was invited to student's homes for dinner. He helped her with shopping and tested all her new culinary concoctions without complaint, and he made whatever repairs were needed in the little house before being asked. The only thing that bothered Belle was his poker playing. He tried to stay in one town and not get restless, but he'd spent too many years roaming the country and had what came to be known as 'Maverick wanderlust.'_

 _The one thing Belle would not abide was his desire to resume their marital relationship. As far as the still legally married Mrs. Maverick was concerned, the day Beauregard broke his wedding vows he laid waste to their marriage, and she couldn't be persuaded otherwise. In desperation and about to lose his mind at both the nearness and distance of her, he begged her to remarry him. After more than six months of beseeching and pleading she finally consented to once again 'plight my troth,' and on a Sunday afternoon in December 1831 they were remarried. Right before the wedding Beauregard gave her a handsome black, leather-bound Bible, and on the first page he wrote, 'To my beautiful, bewitching Belle. On our_ _wedding day. Forever yours, Beauregard.'_

 _Their 're-wedding' night was almost as raucous as their original wedding night, and to his great surprise and delight, none of the passion had deserted his bride. Beauregard bought the house from Jeremiah and moved in, and Jeremiah occupied Beau's hotel room._

 _The year's passed, and after Jeremiah died suddenly in the spring of 1834, Beau convinced Belle to move back to Charleston with him. He missed his brothers and had his fill of Louisiana. She went willingly, hoping that a change of scenery might give her the pregnancy she and Beau so desired, but nothing was different in South Carolina. After they'd been in Charleston a while the Maverick wanderlust struck both Beau and Ben, and the two of them started traveling more and more, knowing that their wives at least had each other for company._

 _Several summers later an opportunity presented itself that younger brother Micah wasn't going to pass up. Their distant cousin Samuel Maverick gave Micah thirty-six hundred acres of land near the Colorado River in Texas, and Micah wasn't leaving South Carolina without his family. By offering them five-thousand dollars each, he convinced Beauregard and Bentley to gather their wives and head to the cattle land in Texas. Isabelle and Abigail thought it an excellent idea and began preparing for the trip. Even though they were going the southern route, it was decided to wait until spring before leaving; then the three families set off on their journey. They'd no sooner crossed from Louisiana into Texas than Isabelle discovered she was expecting a child._

 _Beauregard, skeptical at first of the move to Texas, was beside himself with joy. He was determined to be everything that Belle wanted him to be, and if that meant giving up gambling and becoming a cattle rancher, he would do so. They finally reached the brand new town of Little Bend and found the perfect spot to raise cattle and a child. There were two houses reasonably close together. Bentley gave Beauregard first choice; he and Isabelle decided they'd always had a small, cozy home and wanted to keep it that way. Bentley and Abigail moved into the larger house, which would later be christened the 'mansion' by Beau._

 _As Belle grew big with the child, she felt strong and healthy, not like the first time when there had been complications from the outset. By that time, Abigail had found that she too was pregnant. Beauregard was thrilled for his brother; he and Abigail had wanted for years to have a family. Isabelle gave birth to a son, named Breton Joseph Maverick, on April 7, and Abigail followed soon after, on October 14, with another Maverick boy. Bentley named him Beauregard Jackson Maverick, after his brother. Even though both fathers were considerably older than normal for first-time parents, they were delighted with the prospect of living close together and raising families within shouting distance of each other._

 _Everything went well at first; neither of the gamblers was cut out to be a cattleman, but they did their best. Micah established a home on the far side of the acreage and prospered. While Bret and Beau were still toddlers, a real miracle occurred. Beauregard and Isabelle conceived another child, and on September 16, one year and five months after his brother first saw the light of day, Bartley Jamison Maverick entered the world. Beau and Belle felt truly blessed._

 _Just how blessed became apparent when Ben's wife Abigail took sick the following spring and died soon after. Little Beau wasn't yet two years old, and Bentley was lost without his wife. Belle tried to help as much as possible, but she had her hands full with her gambling cattle rancher and two little boys._

 _Enter Lily Mae Connors, a young mother with a family of her own and a heart big enough to love all of Texas. Her husband was a drover and he was gone on a lot of cattle drives, so it was almost natural for Lily Mae to become someone's housekeeper. She was a Godsend for Ben and Little Beau and became a good friend to Belle, who missed Abigail terribly._

 _Beauregard and his younger brother began to struggle with the cattle and naturally reverted to poker playing as a form of entertainment. As the ranches began to slowly and steadily fail, they turned back to their chosen profession to make a living._

 _The problems with baby Bart's health soon began. Bret was an active, fit child who loved his little brother unequivocally and helped Belle at every turn; Bart was a sickly child from the get-go and came down with everything he possibly could. If anyone in the valley or in town was sick with anything, Bart caught it Poor Bret spent hours watching the baby just so momma could get some sleep since Bart was often worst at night._

 _On those occasions when Bart was actually well he was a natural at almost everything he tried. Much to Belle's chagrin Beauregard taught them to play poker as soon as they could hold the cards, and Bart responded as if he'd been born with a deck of cards in his hands._

 _It was the same way with horses. Bret was almost four the first time he rode a horse, and he was a good rider from the start. Bart was spectacular; sit him on an unsaddled horse and he was in command. Bret was a quick learner and Belle taught him to read using the Bible that Beau had given her on their second wedding day. Bart learned right along with his brother, and when momma wasn't reading the Bible to her boys, Bart was reading it out loud to both of them._

 _Micah's cattle ranch was more successful than either of his brothers, maybe because he was willing to work harder at it. But Micah was homesick for Charleston, and eventually decided to return to South Carolina. His brothers were sorry to see him leave Texas, but it allowed them the freedom they'd longed for and returned to poker playing full time._

 _When Bret was almost five-and-a-half and Bart was turning four something happened that Lily Mae vaguely remembered as 'runnin' her own sister off from visitin' here.' That wasn't what happened, but it was the story that was told to everyone who asked "Why did your sister Grace leave Texas?"_

Bart yawned; he couldn't help it. The sun was up and the fire was down, and Bart was exhausted. He didn't understand how Pappy could keep telling the story with no break and not fall asleep.

"Am I borin' you, son?" Beauregard asked when he saw the yawn.

"No, Pappy, no sir, you're not. I'm just tired. I'm sorry, I need some shut-eye. And some food. I know Lily Mae's awake, I heard her in the kitchen makin' coffee."

"Alright, Bartley, I guess enough is enough. I'm sorry this is takin' so long. There's just a lot to tell – "

Bart shook his head, wanting his father to understand everything that he was feeling. "I wanna hear every word of it, Pappy. I don't care how long it takes. I'm glad you're tellin' me."

"Good. Let's go get breakfast. I'm starved."


	13. Between Brothers

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 12 – Between Brothers

Bart had been asleep most of the day when there was a knock on his door. Itwas a good thing he was already awake, or the knock never would have been heard. "Come in, Bret."

He knew it was his brother immediately. He'd heard that knock most of his life, and it was easily identifiable. Bret entered the room and closed the door behind him. He was dressed casually, not at all ready to go either visiting or gambling. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Bart blinked, then chuckled. "Would it matter if you did?"

Another chuckle, and a head shake. "Nope. You got plans for right now?"

Bart sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then reached for his boots. "Puttin' my boots on. Wanna help?"

"No. I'm only an expert at takin' 'em off, not puttin' 'em on. I was hopin' I could talk you into a ride."

"A ride? Where?"

"Anywhere. It doesn't matter. The horses are saddled, and I have Noble's teeth marks to prove it. I need to get out of here for a while and I want to talk to you." That could only mean one thing – Bret wanted to discuss Pappy.

"Alright. But I need somethin' to eat first. Lily Mae got anything made down there?"

"You know she does. You decided you're eatin' again?"

Having finished with his boots, Bart stood and grabbed his hat and jacket. "Listenin' to Pappy's hard work. I'm hungry, what can I tell you?"

"Let's get her to make us a basket. We can take it with us and go on down by the river. Plenty a spots down there."

"Sure," Bart responded, and it caused both of them to laugh.

Bret led the way, and Bart followed him downstairs to the kitchen. "Lily Mae!"

"Good grief, you made me jump a mile. What're you shoutin' for?" Lily Mae questioned Bret as they came around the corner. The smell of fried chicken filled the air and Bart's stomach protested having to wait for food when everything smelled so delicious right now.

"Sorry," Bret apologized. "I lose my head my when I smell your fried chicken."

Lily Mae laughed at him. "You lose your head when I fry anything. And what about you, Mr. B?" she asked, shifting her attention to Bart. "Are you hungry or is your stomach on strike again?"

"Starvin', Lily. Pack us a supper, would ya? We're goin' out."

"Out out or out?" she asked, eyeing the clothes they wore.

"Out. Riding. Out as in outdoors. You remember outdoors, don't you?"

"Don't you be gettin' smart with me, Bret Maverick. I can still turn you over my knee and spank your hide."

"Yes, ma'am," Bret replied, sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Lily. I forgot you're about the only one in this house that actually goes outside." He paused to make sure that Lily Mae was once again smiling. "Did you happen to make any of your delicious cornbread with that chicken?"

Bart had a stricken look on his face; he remembered a picnic of fried chicken and cornbread with Amy, and he wondered where she was and what she was doing. He shook his head to clear the memory away and asked an unexpected question. "Do we still have that bottle of wine I brought home from town?"

"Yep, you know we do in this house. Look over on the top shelf of the pantry."

Lily was right, as usual. Bart grabbed the bottle and a cup and held onto them as Bret took possession of the food from Lily Mae. "Do you need to bring that?" he asked, pointing at the wine bottle.

"No, I don't need to bring it. I wanna bring it. Get over it, Bret. It's wine, not poison."

"Don't care. You know what Pappy says about drinkin."

Bart thought back to what Pappy had just divulged to him and understood his feelings about drinking. But this wasn't poker, it was a ride. And a picnic. And Lord-knows-what-else.

"I'm not playin' poker, okay? I wouldn't do that. Or would you rather I stay home?"

Bret shook his head, not willing to match wits with his brother in a battle of stubborn. "Alright. Old habits, you know? Bring it if you must."

Bart smiled, satisfied. "If Pappy comes lookin' for me, we'll be back later, Lily." He bent down and kissed her cheek like he always did. "Behave yourself."

"Get outta here," she shooed them off, attempting to swat either of them and missing both.

"Thank God for that woman," Bart offered as they walked out onto the porch.

"We'd sure be in a mess without her," Bret agreed. Noble and Bret's mare were saddled as promised, and Noble nickered his impatience at the indignity of having to stand and wait for Bart to get there.

"That animal!"

Bart shook his head. "Don't you be insultin' my horse," he insisted. "He'll get even if you do."

"I've no doubt of that, Brother Bart. Does he do that to you or just everybody else?"

"Everybody but me. I've no idea why."

They rode for several minutes in silence. It had been a long time since they'd first gone down to the river, and Bart remembered well the day that Bret saved him from certain drowning when he got stuck on the log. "Look at what we would've missed."

It wasn't necessary for Bart to explain to Bret what he was talking about. That day had played a significant part in both their lives, most recently in Montana when Bret came to his younger brother's rescue once again.

"Sure glad you waited to do that until I was there."

"Beau would've saved me."

"Beau was too busy chasin' frogs to even hear you."

Bart nodded his head. "You're probably right. And who would you talk to now if I wasn't here?"

"Sure not our sister."

Bart said nothing right away, just dismounted and dropped Noble's reins as he reached in his saddlebags for the bottle and cup. "So you know about Beth?"

"Pappy told me a little while you were down in Mexico. Her name was Beth?

"Elizabeth Josephine Maverick."

A light went on in Bret's head. "Ah, so that's where the 'Joseph' came from."

"Probably," Bart answered. "She'd be way older. It almost . . . . . it almost destroyed 'em."

"How?" Bret asked eagerly.

"Oh no," Bart said sharply. "That's as far as I'm goin'. You want the rest of the story, you get Pappy to tell you. It's his tale, not mine."

Bret looked as unhappy as Bart had seen him for quite a while. "That's just it, Bart. I tried to get him to tell me. You heard me. He brushed me off. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Wait for Pappy to decide the time is right."

"What if somethin' happens to him, God forbid? Whadda I do then?"

Bart shrugged as he grabbed another piece of chicken. "I don't know, Bret. We waited for you. We waited for you to get home, and you couldn't be bothered."

"That's not true, and you know it. Althea and I . . . . . . . it's thin ice out there, Bart. Neither one of us knows where this is goin'. We waited to be together as long as either one of us could stand it. You know what that's like."

"I guess I just have more patience than you do, Bret."

"Probably. I tried to make Pappy understand. He didn't, and I'm bein' punished for it. That's not fair."

Bart sighed and poured half a cup of wine, taking a swallow or two before he spoke again. "That's what I've been gettin' my whole life, Bret. Not fair. Pappy went to you with everything and left me sittin' there wonderin' what was goin' on. Do you know how that's always made me feel?"

Bret was quick to respond. "There's a reason for that."

"Yeah? What is it?"

Bret thought back to what Pappy had told him. _'You were easy goin' and responsible, always ready to help. Bartley was the sweetest child anyone'd ever seen, but he was headstrong and stubborn, and wild at times. You were just like your mother; Bart was like me. You might've resembled me, but you have your mother's disposition. Bart – I didn't want him to do some of the things I'd done. So I was always extra hard on him. Just so he wouldn't turn out like his old pappy.'_

"Pappy said he bounced things off of me first because I was like momma and thought things through. You were more like Pappy and just reacted to things, then thought about 'em."

Bret waited for some kind of reaction from Bart, but the most he got was a thoughtful, "Hmmmmm."

"Is that all you have to say?"

One bite left of his cornbread and Bart washed it down with the rest of his wine. "Maybe he's right. Never looked at it that way before."

That wasn't the way Bret expected his brother to react. But then Bart wasn't exactly the same person he was before he'd spent almost a year in Arizona thinking he was Doc Holliday. He seemed to be still digesting the information Bret had just given him. "Sorry, Brother Bret. You still hafta talk to Pappy. It's just not my story to tell."


	14. The Book of Revelations, Chapter Six

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 13 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Six

Bart expected Pappy to grill him about the ride with his brother when they returned, but Beauregard never said a word about it. Ben, Beau and Bret all got dressed for poker and left the house. It was the first time Bret had gone into Little Bend since his return.

Pappy was still sitting at the table eating a piece of chicken when Bart brought the wine and the cup back into the kitchen. He watched his youngest son put the bottle back where he'd gotten it from but never said anything while he finished his supper. Finally when he was down to nothing but bones he looked up at Bart. "We don't have to continue tonight if you don't want to. We could go into town, or just take a night off."

"It's up to you, Pappy. I'm fine with continuin' if you are."

"Then let's go upstairs. A little too public downstairs last night."

 _One day without any warning, Belle's sister Grace showed up at the Maverick front door. Bret answered the door when he heard the knock; as usual, momma was in with Bart as he fought off another illness of some kind. "Well, hello there, little man. You must be my nephew Bret. I'm your Aunt Grace. May I come in?"_

 _Bret, gentleman that he was even at five, nodded his head yes and held the door open while Grace entered with her suitcase. Once she was inside he ran to the bedroom to get Belle, dragging her by the hand without saying anything to her. Belle followed her oldest son towards the front door but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her sister. She hadn't spoken to Grace since the day she'd found out about the night spent with Beauregard. Bret continued to pull on his mother's hand but she wouldn't go another step._

" _What do you want?" she asked in a voice as cold as ice._

" _Why Isabelle, is that any way to greet the sister you haven't seen in all these years?"_

 _Belle fought her emotions to keep her voice calm and under control. "I'm sorry, Grace, what the hell do you want?"_

" _Tsk, tsk, tsk, sister dear. No better at all. I've come to visit my sister and brother-in-law and my two nephews, that's what I want."_

" _Where's your husband?"_

 _Grace shrugged her shoulders, as if she didn't know. "Dylan is . . . . . somewhere in Texas."_

" _Then go find him and get out of my house."_

" _Momma, be nice to Aunty Grace." Bret looked so upset that Belle's heart broke._

" _Bret, honey, go back and stay with your brother, please, while momma talks to Aunt Grace."_

" _Yes, ma'am."_

 _Belle watched Bret go back to the bedroom and made sure that he was out of sight before she turned back to her sister. There was pure venom in her voice. "Why are you here, Grace?"_

" _I told you, I came for a visit."_

 _Belle kept her voice low, so the boys wouldn't hear her, but the venom was still there. "You weren't invited here and you're not welcome. Take your things and get out."_

 _Beauregard had played poker the previous night and was asleep in the other bedroom, but the noise was enough to wake him. He came out of the room rubbing his eyes. "Belle, what's the noise – " That's as far as he got before he saw Grace Chapman standing inside his front door. He stopped dead in his tracks just the way Belle had. Something dark and ugly flashed in his eyes. "Get out," he growled._

" _My goodness, you people are certainly unfriendly," Grace said, but she made no attempt to move._

" _Get out before I throw you out." There was nothing but disgust in Beauregard's voice._

 _Bret, God bless him, scooted back into the room at that moment, leading Bart, whose nose was running, by the hand. "Come on, Bart, you have to meet Aunty Grace."_

 _Belle and Beau were frozen. Both desperately wanted Grace out of the house but dared not say anything in front of Bret. Both had the same thought at the exact same moment. Belle swooped in and picked up Bart and Beau grabbed Bret and raised him high in the air. 'Mr. Bret, come with me. Momma needs your help with Bart in the back room." He carried his oldest son and followed Belle, who had Bart in her arms. He set Bret down inside the boys' bedroom and closed the door behind him as he hurried back to the front door. He opened the door and stared Grace down. "Get out of here. NOW."_

 _Grace knew that she'd been beaten. She picked up her suitcase and walked out the door, and Beau closed it behind her. It was the first and last time that either of the boys ever saw their Aunt Grace. And it was the last any of the adults saw of Grace Chapman._

"I don't remember that," Bart told his father.

"Good. It was an ugly scene. Besides, you were four years old, and you were sick. I wouldn't expect you to remember it. I don't know if Bret does or not."

"And you never saw her again?"

"Nope. I heard she went back to Louisiana."

"Alone?"

"I don't know. If there's any justice in the world, yes."

"Not even after momma . . . . died?"

"Especially not then. I hate to think what I would have done if she'd come back. Probably shot her."

"Pappy, you couldn't do that." Bart watched his father's eyes. He'd only seen Beauregard that mad once in his life.

"You'd be surprised what I'm capable of, Bartley."

 _Momma visited the other ladies of the church, and she always took Bart with her. In the summer of the year that Bart turned five, he caught something from one of them and momma came down with it at the same time. For once the little boy's body fought it off and he recovered sooner than expected; unfortunately, momma did not. Belle got sicker and sicker, and there were days on end that she couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't get out of bed._

 _The boys had to be as quiet as church mice at home, and they spent a good deal of time over at Uncle Ben's house, where they could run and laugh and shout and be typical boys. Lily Mae did her best to take care of them, and every night they would go home to a house where disease and sickness lingered._

 _All through summer and into fall momma was sick and in bed, and Pappy walked around the house trying to figure out what to do. The doctor could do nothing to help, and it at last became clear that whatever had hold of momma had a death grip on her, and fully intended to extract its revenge. Pappy tried his best to prepare Bret and Bart for the inevitable, but no matter how many times he tried to explain it to them they just didn't seem to understand. He forgot to explain it to himself._

 _Belle was afraid to see her children, her beloved boys, because she feared passing her illness along to them. The night she died Beauregard sent Bret and Bart home with his brother, and he stayed by her side until the light broke on the east side of the house._

" _Beauregard . . . . . the boys," she babbled, her fever so high that she was almost incoherent. "Where are the boys?"_

" _I sent them home with Ben, honey, remember? That's what we agreed to do."_

" _Oh . . . . I forgot. You know what to do with the cuff links?" The only thing of any value that Isabelle had ever kept were the gold and black opal cuff links that belonged to her father._

" _I know, Isabelle. They belong to Bart. But I'm to keep them until he's old enough to wear them."_

" _Yes, and you know why?"_

" _Because you promised them to him if he'd get well when he had . . . . . . whatever it was he had when he almost died."_

" _Yes. Beauregard, where are our boys? Why aren't they here?"_

" _Because we decided it wasn't safe for them, Belle. Remember? So they wouldn't get sick."_

" _Beauregard, come here to me."_

 _He'd been leaning against the wall across from the fireplace. They'd made a temporary bed for Isabelle on the floor right next to the fire; no matter the temperature outside she was always cold. He sat next to her and took her hand. He knew it was time._

" _I love you, Isabelle. I've loved you since the first day I ever laid eyes on you. That night I came home from playing poker with your father and he moved you out of your room so I could 'sleep it off.' That was the first day of my life, and it ends when you leave me here by myself."_

" _No, Beauregard, it can't end. You have to raise Bret and Bart. Promise me you'll do that. Promise."_

 _He could barely choke the words out. "I promise."_

" _I've loved you since then, too. That whole time we were apart . . . . I never stopped loving you. And it doesn't matter what happened. We've always belonged together. We always will." She closed her eyes. "I'm so . . . . tired. I'm . . . . .done now, Beauregard. I'll wait for you."_

Pappy grew silent, unable to go any further. He didn't have to continue; Bart knew what happened. He remembered it all. He even remembered when Pappy had shown him the cuff links that he still wore when he went out to play poker; the gold and black opals that Momma left him. And both Maverick men grieved for the precious wife and mother that had been taken away from them.


	15. What's Too Painful to Remember

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 14 – What's Too Painful to Remember

Three days passed before Beauregard could force himself to bring up the narrative he'd started telling his youngest son. He spent the time at the little house he'd raised the boys in, going through every scrap of paper, every long stored memory that abided within the walls. Bart sat during the daylight hours under the desert willow tree in the Maverick graveyard, reflecting on his own life and romantic history, but thinking mostly of his mother, trying to remember as much as possible of her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her embrace. He grieved, he laughed, he reached back into his oldest memories to see her again, fleetingly, in his mind's eye.

On the morning of the fourth day father and son sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee together, each still lost in his own ruminations until Lily Mae finally broke through the reverie.

"Are you two ever gonna do anything besides sit around and mope?"

Bart looked up, startled. "What do you mean mope, Lily?"

She shook her head sadly. "Whatever it is that's got both of you by the tail, kick it off, would ya? I can't stand the sight of either of ya anymore, lookin' like yer dog just died. Go out and get a new dog."

Lily's words were harsh, given what father and son were grieving over, but there was truth to them. The two men exchanged glances and Beauregard ventured a suggestion. "Let's go into town tonight. Tomorrow we can finish what we started."

Bart nodded. "Alright, Pappy. Sounds like a good idea. See you at supper?"

"Yep."

Bart got up from the table and left the house. Lily Mae poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down with Beau. "You tell him?"

"Most of it," Beau answered. "Still got to finish the tale."

She reached across the table and patted Beau's hand. "I know it's hard, but you're doin' the right thing. He needs to know all of it. Maybe it'll finally make things right between the two of ya."

"I hope so, Lily. It's been a long time comin', that's for sure. I'm just worried about how he'll take it, is all."

"Just how you'd take it. He's too much like you not to."

Beauregard sighed, relieved to hear the words somewhere other than his own mind. "God, I hope you're right. If it goes the other way – "

She interrupted him. "It won't. Are you sorry you're not tellin' this to both of 'em?"

"Yes and no. This part of it involves Bret because he was there while it was happenin'. But the only reason it turned out the way it did – that's strictly Bart. Hope I can make him understand that."

"You will, Mr. Beau. You made it this far. Miz Belle won't desert ya now."

In a way, he was startled by Lily's insight. Then again, she'd watched the men in this family for almost thirty years. She knew that Belle Maverick was still the only woman in Beau's heart, and always would be.

"Thanks, Lily. I hope you're right."

XXXXXXXX

Bart had his fill of the graveyard. He rode out instead to the river, where so many of his adventures and mishaps as a youngster had occurred. There was a horse tethered to the tree where Bart and Bret had eaten the previous week, and as he got closer, he recognized it as his brother's mare. He knew why he was here, he wondered why Bret was.

His brother wasn't immediately visible; after searching for a minute Bart spotted him about fifty feet downstream, bouncing pebbles across the river the way they had as children. Bret didn't see him at first, then gave a wave as Bart caught his attention. He started walking back upstream, and Bart dismounted and dropped Nobles reins.

"Where's Althea?" Bart asked as soon Bret got within hearing distance.

"Went to Austin for somethin' or other," came his brother's answer.

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"Didn't feel like it. What're you doin' here?"

Bart kind of chuckled. "That's a simple question with a complicated answer. I came to recapture my youth?"

"Too late, bud, our youth is almost gone. Got somethin' botherin' you?"

"Momma."

"What about Momma?"

"Everythin'. It's hard for me to remember her. I was sick so much. You were older, how much do you remember?"

Bret rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not sure, Bart. I wasn't a whole lot older. Why's Momma on your mind after all these years?"

"Pappy."

"Ah. Dredging up old times, is he?"

"Just tryin' to tell a story, Bret. But he made me think about her, and how little I really know. Whatta you remember?"

They both sat on the riverbank and watched the water run downstream. "I remember her hands, and how soft and gentle they were. How she'd run her fingers down your face, then cup your chin in her hand. And look at you with those dark eyes that lit up like Christmas mornin'. You've got her eyes, son, even though they're not as dark. What was that Carmenita called you? "The man with the dancin' eyes."

Bart was fascinated. He'd never heard Bret sound so . . . . . . poetic before. "Go on."

"And her voice. She could make you feel like the luckiest person on earth because she was talkin' to ya. Or like you'd just committed murder and had to pay for it. She could cut Pappy to ribbons with just a word. She didn't do that often, but when she did . . . . . . .she had the biggest heart when it came to animals. Do you remember . . . . no, you were probably too little. I found a baby bird, one time. Musta fell outta the nest. Momma took care a that baby bird like it was one a her children. And when it got big enough and flew off she cried. I know you remember the dog we had – Whazit. Ugliest dog God every put on this earth. Pappy brought it home and it scared me to death. He wanted to get rid of it and Momma wouldn't stand for it. "Everybody needs love," she said, "some more than others."

"And the frogs and toads and lizards we brought home! Lily Mae wouldn't come to visit because we had all kinda things runnin' around the house. Momma just laughed at all of 'em. And her singin'! She had a beautiful voice for singin'. If I listen real hard, I can still hear it. Bart, do you remember – " he turned to his brother and saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," Bart answered. "Keep talkin'. I wanna hear it all. I just don't remember any of that."

"The time you almost died, and she showed you the cuff links and promised they'd be yours if you'd just stay with us? That night when your fever broke, she came out in the front room and cried. I asked her why, and she told me they were just happy tears. She shoulda been with us all these years."

"I wonder what our lives'ed be like."

Bret laughed. "A lot different, I expect. She'd a never let us go with Pappy any a the times we did. And gamblin' woulda been outta the question. We'd probably be punchin' cows, gettin' dirty an calloused. An have a buncha kids runnin' around."

"And worrin' about them the way she worried about us?"

"Yep, I expect so. No sense thinkin' about what can't ever be. You know what it leads to."

Bart picked up a stone and skipped it across the river.

"Dang, I never could get mine to go as far as yours. Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Women?"

Bret thought about the answer for a minute and started to laugh. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I do believe you may be right, son. You just may be right."


	16. Stalling for Time

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 15 – Stalling for Time

Funny as it seemed, neither one wanted to go to 'Maude's'. They headed instead to the 'LB Bar', the place that held so many memories for both of them, good and bad. Ray was tending bar, as always, and was tickled as he could be to see Bart and Beauregard, together the way they used to be when Bart was young.

"Bart, Mr. Maverick, how y'all doin' tonight? Long time no see Mr. Maverick. You win all the money over at 'Maude's'? "

"Ray, how are ya? Yeah, we ran Maude Donovan outta money. And haven't I told you for twenty-some years to call me Beau?"

Ray nodded and laughed. "Yes sir, you been tellin' me as long as I remember. Bart, you want coffee? Mr. Mav – Beau? Coffee?"

"Sit down, Pappy, I'll get 'em," Bart told his father.

Beauregard sat at one of the empty tables and watched Bart retrieve the coffee. It had been a long time since he'd seen his boy walk across this floor, and as he did so now, memories came flooding back to him. He too remembered the night that Bart had been accused of cheating at cards and gotten backhanded by a disgruntled cowboy. Beau beat the cowboy into the floor until several of the bar patrons pulled him off.

Now the son that brought his coffee back to him was a man, and a fine looking one at that. He'd done the best he could with the boys, considering how lost he was without Belle and what had almost happened after her death. That was the part of the story he still had to tell Bart, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Maybe that's why he wanted to come here rather than the other two saloons; this one held the key to memories of the past. Some good, some questionable, like the unfair pummeling.

'Wanna play a little five-card draw?" Beau asked Bart.

"Now Pappy, why would I wanna do that? I can't beat you."

"Not if you don't try," Beau answered him.

"When was the last time I beat you?" Bart laughingly asked.

"Uh . . . . . "

"That's what I thought," Bart answered.

"Come on, son. For old times. Don't make me beg, Bartley."

"Alright, Pappy, as long as you don't call me Bartley again."

"It's your name."

"And you know I hate that. Maverick poker or real poker?"

"What kind of a question is that? I don't play those silly games you and your brother play. Poker."

"Alright, but I'm dealin'."

"Don't trust your father?"

"Nope."

Bart pulled out a deck of cards, shuffled and let Pappy cut. He dealt five cards each and the game was on. They played several hands before Beau began to notice the level of Bart's play. When he and Bret had first left Little Bend for life on the road he was a decent enough poker player, able to beat the majority of the locals without too much trouble. The man sitting across from him now played on a whole different level. Maude Donovan's assessment of him all those months ago was entirely correct; Bart had no discernable tell. Beau watched him play the game, against the man that had taught him, and beat his teacher hand after hand. Finally, Beau was forced to say something.

"When did you get to be such a good poker player?"

"Hmmmmm?" was the only response he got.

"When, Bartley?"

"Pappy!"

"I know, I'm sorry. But answer my question."

"I don't know, Pappy."

"Do you beat your brother like this?"

"Sometimes."

"He can beat you?"

"Sometimes."

They played several more hands and Beau was about ready to throw in the towel when Bret walked in. "Well, I'll be damned," Beau remarked.

"We'll probably all be damned, Pappy. I wondered where you all went tonight."

Ray let out a yell from behind the bar. "Bret Maverick! Now it really does seem like old times."

"Hey, Ray! How about some coffee?" Bret asked.

"Comin' right up, Bret." Ray brought a cup and the coffeepot over to the table and poured fresh cups for Bart and Pappy. "Been a long time since the three of you was in here together. Special occasion?"

Beau shook his head. "No, Ray, just an old man playin' against his sons."

XXXXXXXX

The three of them rode home together, Bret on one side and Bart on the other of their father. It had been a long time coming, this night spent in the oldest saloon in Little Bend, and each man had his own thoughts and memories on the way home. It was an interesting evening, especially for Beau, as both of his sons spent the night soundly beating him, game after game. Bart was correct; sometimes he beat Bret and sometimes Bret beat him. It was a Mexican-standoff kind of night for the brothers.

When they got back to the house Bret took the horses to the barn, despite Noble's earlier nip, and Bart and Pappy were left at the house's front door. Beauregard watched his son look at the sky, then at the porch and sigh, thinking of other nights and other places. "Bart, what's on your mind?"

"You, Pappy," Bart answered, without looking at his father. "What is it you don't want to tell me?"

"What makes you think there's somethin' I don't wanna tell you?"

Bart looked his father in the eyes and didn't mince words. "Just exactly that kind of crap. You answer my questions with a question. Quit stallin', Pappy."

"Are you ready for bed, son?"

Bart shook his head and answered quietly, "No sir, I'm not."

"Then let's go talk, Bart. No more stallin', I promise."


	17. The Book of Revelations, Fini

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 16 – The Book of Revelations, Fini

They were back in Beauregard's bedroom. Bart had stoked the fireplace in there and had the room comfortably warm. The door was closed for good reasons, which would be revealed later. Beau was nervous and it showed; his son couldn't understand why but had no idea the things that were about to be revealed to him.

 _The day Belle was buried was almost anti-climactic. There was a small service at the church in the valley, per Belle's request, and then burial in the family graveyard on the hill, under the fledgling desert willow tree that momma loved so. Pappy was silent through everything, standing and staring a long time at the mound of fresh dirt left after her coffin was lowered into the ground. He kept hearing the words he'd told Isabelle, and the promise he'd made to her. How could he keep a promise to take care of Bret and Bart when he couldn't even take care of himself?_

 _When something in his head told him he'd stood graveside longer than he should, he put his hat back on and headed for the wagon. Ben and little Beau were waiting for him, Ben on the front seat and Beau sitting in the back. Bret stood in front of the horses, holding their reins in one hand and the back of Bart's shirt in the other. Sometimes he had to resort to grabbing his brother's clothing to prevent him from scooting out of sight at inappropriate moments. Beauregard silently took the reins from Bret's hands and his oldest son turned his full attention to his brother, letting go of Bart's shirt with one hand while grabbing his arm with the other. Unexpectedly Bart stopped moving and stood still, somehow sensing this wasn't the time or place to be running off._

 _They started back to the house, down the grassy hill to the dirt road, where Bart walked in front of the wagon and Bret followed his brother. Too long confined and quiet for even the best-behaved seven-year-old, Bret started kicking dirt as he walked, eventually making a game of 'see how much dirt you can get on your brother'. For once Bart was the one walking peacefully._

 _Suddenly an unexpected command boomed down from the man driving the wagon. "Bret Maverick! Stop kicking dirt on your brother!"_

 _The kicking stopped immediately. Temptation, however, proved too much for the younger boy, and he turned in his tracks and stuck his tongue out at his brother. A new command issued forth in the same tone of voice and at the same volume. "Bart Maverick! Put your tongue back in your mouth where it belongs!"_

 _Both boys behaved for a while, and when they got within sight of the cabin they ran for the front door. Little Beau jumped out of the wagon and ran after them. Pappy almost laughed, watching them. If you didn't know which child belonged to which elder Maverick, you'd swear they were all three brothers. Pappy and Uncle Ben were both glad for that. It had helped ease Little Beau's transition to 'motherless child' and would no doubt serve the same purpose now that Isabelle was gone._

 _The day proceeded with the usual amount of drama; there was a major crisis averted when Beau and Ben entered the house and found Bart wrapped in Belle's blankets, lying on her temporary bed by the fire crying his eyes out. Several other minor crises were avoided both before and after Ben left and took Little Beau and Bret with him back to spend the rest of the day with Lily Mae at Ben's house._

 _Beauregard found a way to fulfill his promise to Belle, and told his youngest about the cuff links, then showed the prize to Bart so ownership of same would remain fixed in his mind. It probably went in one ear and out the other with Bart, but Pappy had fulfilled his first promise to his deceased wife._

 _Later that afternoon Pappy gathered Bart up and they went to Ben's house for supper. As promised, Lily Mae made enough food to feed a small army, and all three boys ate like one. Ben's appetite was excellent; he'd gone through his own period of mourning when Abigail died, but he knew his brother well enough to not be surprised by the disinterest in food. After supper, the younger Mavericks helped Lily Mae with gathering and cleaning dishes, and then everyone adjourned to the front room, where the poker table sat on prominent display in front of the fire._

 _Beauregard fully intended to play his usual game, and to Ben's great astonishment he did just that. Beau expected no quarter from anyone and he gave none, ruthlessly demonstrating once again that nothing was more important than poker._

 _At last everyone was worn out and it was time to go home. Bret and Bart thanked Lily Mae for the delicious supper, kissed her and Uncle Ben good night, and followed their father out the door. "Pappy?"_

" _Yes, Bart?"_

" _When's Momma gonna come home?"_

 _Beauregard sighed. How many times had he explained this to Bart? "She can't come home, Bartley, she's up in heaven with God."_

" _All by herself?" Bart's eyes were as big as saucers, and his father looked at him before trying to explain it all again. That was his mistake – looking in Bart's eyes was like looking in Belle's. He attempted to answer his boy, but he couldn't get any words out. His oldest son took over and did his best to explain it, once again, to his little brother._

" _She's not alone, Bart. She's got Aunt Abigail, and Papa Jeremiah, and her own Momma up there with her, and all the other angels, and God. She's not alone."_

" _Oh," the youngest Maverick answered. With that one answer, Bret Maverick assumed a role in his brother's life that he would continue to play as long as they both lived – that of surrogate father. Beau reached over and laid his hand on Bret's shoulder, and the unspoken 'Thank you' passed between them. Somehow the older boy knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd have to step in for their pappy._

 _Beau got the boys home safely and tucked into bed, then closed their bedroom door and walked out into the little house; Belle's house. There would be no sleep this night and Beau knew it; he stoked the fire and removed the sheets and blankets from the temporary bed. He deposited them in the fireplace and watched as they burned. He should have done that when Belle first died, but he couldn't; he kept expecting her to come back and wonder where her bed was. He knew it was a foolish indulgence, but as long as the bed was still there the hope existed that she might return. Tonight he was finally sure that she wouldn't._

 _Once the fire had died back down to normal, Beauregard walked outside into the moonlight. Isabelle loved a full moon, and there was one out tonight. Her widower looked up and almost turned to go in and get her; it took a minute to realize he wouldn't find her inside. He walked around the house to the back, where he leaned up against the wall and lit a cigar. He'd stopped smoking when Belle first got sick; it was hard on her already overtaxed lungs to cope with the coughing from what was going on in her body and the smoke. He blew out smoke and watched the patterns it made in the moonlight, but the cigar had no more taste than food. Still he smoked the whole thing, determined to be as normal as possible for – what? The boys? Himself?_

 _There was an ache in his heart that wouldn't quit. It wasn't fair, or right, or anything, to leave two little boys without their mother, and a long-since grown man without the only reason he still breathed. The more it hurt, the more he missed her, and the more he missed her, the more it hurt. Something moved out in the field, probably a rabbit or raccoon, but for just a moment Beau expected Isabelle to walk out of the foliage. When he realized she wasn't coming his breath caught in his throat, and finally he could contain the feelings no longer. He dropped to his knees in the dirt and an explosion issued forth from his gut in the form of a sob. The floodgates opened and Beau spilled his tears onto the ground in a torrent. He tried to stop the sobs and when he couldn't, he tried to vomit them out of him. It didn't work. There was nothing inside him to come out._

 _He cried until there were no more tears left anywhere in the universe. Then he sat, embarrassed and ashamed until nothing racked his body other than his breaths. "Sorry, Belle," he mumbled and got to his feet when he heard Bart cry out. He hurried back inside, to the boys' room, but both of them were still asleep. 'Just a dream,' he thought, and brushed the dirt from his pant legs. He went back out to the front room, where he sat in front of the fire and watched the embers until they died and the sun rose on another day._

"Pop," Bart whispered, using the term of endearment for his father long since forgotten with the onset of "Pappy." He reached out and placed his hand on his father's arm, and Beau slowly looked up at him. "I never knew. You were always so . . . . . ."

"So unfeeling?" Beau finished for him. "I'm sure it seemed that way. I didn't dare let you see what turmoil I was in. I'd promised Belle to take care of you and your brother. How could I do that if I was out of control myself?"

Bart understood better than his father knew. He well remembered the night in Santa Pietro when he'd fled from Carmenita and ended up on his knees behind her home. He was lucky that night, his brother was there to hold him and comfort him as he remembered things he thought forgotten. Pappy had no one, just two young sons asleep in their room.

"I'm sorry, Pappy. I . . . . . . . . I know what you went through."

"Hold onto that thought, son," Beauregard pleaded.

 _The days passed. Somehow Beau got through them, one at a time, but they got no easier. He tried to be patient and kind; he tried the best he could. It wasn't easy to play poker at night and attempt to cope with two rambunctious little boys during the day. He decided to hire a housekeeper, but as soon as any woman found out he was a professional gambler they wanted nothing to do with the job. When the boys weren't in school he sent them to Ben's house so he could get a few hours' sleep and make his inept efforts to take care of the house. Finally, he found a young girl named Solita who agreed to come in for two or three hours in the afternoon to cook supper for the boys and do a little housework. It wasn't a perfect arrangement, but it was better than no help at all._

 _Beau couldn't abide food and lived on coffee and air. His weight loss was rapid and visible, and Ben sat him down to scold him about it. "You have to eat, Beauregard. Starving yourself isn't going to bring her back."_

" _I'm not starving myself, Bentley. I can't stand the sight of food, much less the taste. How am I supposed to eat it?"_

" _Your clothes just hang on you, brother. No one in town is going to want to play poker against a scarecrow."_

 _So Beauregard forced food down his throat; just enough to stop the weight from continuing its downward slide. He'd been plagued by odd dreams his whole life, but as his food intake reverted to somewhat normal, he was woken multiple times a night by stranger and stranger stories. Then the nightmares started in earnest, and one, in particular, haunted him. He'd come home and Belle would be inside waiting for him, but as soon as he reached out to touch her she turned into Grace and he was repulsed. It always woke him, and left him unable to sleep the remainder of the night. There was only one way to stop the nightmares, and that was to quit sleeping._

 _By the third night of no rest, he felt like he was going to lose his mind. He wandered the house in the dark, looking for a way to relieve his latest torment, and the idea slowly dawned on him that all of his problems would cease if he were dead. The longer he stayed awake, the more appealing the notion of death became. Even Bret noticed that Pappy had gone from silent and surly to babbling and confused, and when his father stalked around the house at night in the dark muttering to himself, his oldest son started listening to the ramblings. With each passing day Beau became more irrational, and one night Bret woke to his father screaming "I need a gun! Where's a gun? Belle, where's my gun?"_

 _Terrified of why his father wanted a gun, Bret hurriedly dressed and ran to the barn, where he struggled to saddle one of the horses. That task accomplished, he climbed aboard and left the barn, riding like Satan and the seven armies were after him. Straight to Uncle Ben's he went, dropping the horse's reins and sprinting for the front door._

" _Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben!" he ran in screaming, and within seconds both Bentley and Lily Mae had come running. Lily fixed a late supper that night and wisely decided to spend the night in a spare room rather than drive home at such an hour._

" _Bret! What's wrong?" Ben responded, grabbing his frantic nephew by the shoulders and spinning him around. Bret was crying and doing his own share of babbling._

" _Uncle Ben . . . Uncle Ben, he's lookin' for a gun . . . . Pappy's lookin' for a gun . . . . he wants to shoot himself!"_

 _Bentley didn't hesitate. "Lily Mae, I'll hitch the horses. Take the wagon and follow us over there – I want you to bring Bart back here and stay with him and Beau. Bret, go saddle my horse for me, then get ready. We're goin' back to stop your Pappy before he does somethin' we'll all regret. Go on, scoot!" and he pushed Bret back towards the front door as he ran upstairs to dress._

 _Within a few minutes Ben and Bret were headed back for Beau's house at a full gallop, Lily Mae frantically driving the wagon. As the man and boy approached the house, they could hear Beau's voice at full volume, "Belle! Where are you, Belle? Where's my gun? I'm comin' for you!"_

 _Ben dismounted before his horse had skidded to a full stop with Bret not far behind him. By the time Lily Mae got to the house Bart was awake and crying, and she scrambled in and grabbed the little boy and rushed him back out to the wagon. Ben had to tackle his older brother and knock him to the ground to stop his frantic stalking the floor and yelling. Bret calmed down as soon as he realized his father was rambling and incoherent, but alive. Beauregard fought his brother and tried to get Ben off of him, but with his weakened condition was unable to dislodge the man lying on his back._

 _Ben started talking to Beau in a calm, soothing voice, and Pappy abruptly stopped yelling. Ben's words could at last be heard. "Shhh, Beauregard. It's alright, you don't need a gun. Belle's not here, she can't help you. Calm down now, Bret's here with me and he's scared to death. Shhh, I'll let you up off the floor if you'll calm down."_

 _Beau tried to nod and Ben finally got off his brother, then helped Beau to stand up. Rational or not, at least he wasn't yelling anymore._

" _Are you better now?"_

 _Beau nodded "Yes."_

" _Not going looking for a gun again?"_

 _A shake of the head this time. Bret sagged into a chair, still shaking, and looked up at his Uncle. "Was he gonna - ?"_

" _I don't know, Bret. Help me get him into bed, would ya?"_

 _The boy nodded and got on one side of his father, Ben on the other. They helped Beau stumble into the bedroom and barely got him to the bed before he passed out from exhaustion and the effort he'd put forth looking for a gun._

 _Bret left the room and Ben followed him, closing the door behind them. "Where are his guns?" Ben asked his nephew._

" _I hid them two days ago," Bret answered. "They're back here." He led his uncle back to his bedroom and struggled to raise his own mattress. Bret had slept on Pappy's gun belt, holster, and derringer the last two nights._

" _Good thinking," Ben told his nephew, as he ruffled the youngster's hair. "How long has this been goin' on, Bret?"_

 _Bret looked down at his feet and answered the ground. "Three or four nights."_

" _If anything like this ever happens again, you don't wait, you hear? You come and get me right away, okay?"_

 _The boy nodded. "Is he gonna be alright, Uncle Ben?"_

" _I'm sure he will be, Bret, but I'm gonna stay here for a few days, just to make sure of that. We'll leave your brother over at my house with his cousin and Lily Mae, alright?"_

" _Yes, sir. Is Pappy gonna be mad at me for ridin' to get you?" This was asked in a small, quiet voice._

" _No, Bret, he's not. You did the right thing, and once your pappy's feelin' better, he'll agree. You've had quite a busy night, haven't you? Let's get you to bed so you can get some sleep. I'll stay up with your daddy. Is that alright with you?"_

 _Another nod of the head and Bret rubbed his eyes as he walked back to his and Bart's room. Ben followed and tucked him into bed, then closed the door as he walked out and went back into Beau's room. His brother was sound asleep on the bed, snoring loudly. Clothes were piled in the corner of the room, and cigar butts were everywhere, along with dirty coffee cups. Ben shook his head sadly. He would get Lily Mae over here to do a thorough cleaning as soon as possible. He sat down on the chair by the other side of the bed and finally allowed himself to nod off, back to sleep._

Beauregard grew silent and looked over at his youngest son, whose expression was somewhere between horrified and terrified. It took a few minutes before Bart finally asked, "Were you serious? Were you really gonna - " he stopped, unable to finish the question.

Beauregard answered him honestly, unwilling to lie at this point in the story. "Was I going to shoot myself? If I'd found a gun, yes. On that night, in that time of my life. Yes."

Bart looked at his father, the one man he'd always had the utmost respect for. He'd heard the words, coming straight from his own father's mouth, but their meaning didn't register. He felt nausea rise in this throat, and he tried to take a deep breath to keep it under control. His still-not-completely-healed lung caught and he couldn't breathe, and he had to get away. Away from the room, away from the mental picture, away from Pappy.

Bart scrambled up and ran through the hall, down the staircase and out onto the porch. He was trying to gasp for air and fight his stomach's instinct to empty itself at the same time, and all he was sure of was that he was losing both battles. He dropped to his knees on the porch and fought for breath, the inability to get air into his lungs the overriding problem. Slowly his breathing calmed, and the panic in his stomach began to subside. He felt the hand on his back and knew his father was beside him.

"Bart, son, are you alright? Can I do anything?"

The voice was frightened and worried; he hadn't seen Bart fight for breath like that since he was a little boy. Was the lung that caught the bullet still bothering him? Or was there something older, deeper at work here? Had all the harm been done when he was a child, only to resurface when damaged as an adult? He kept his hand on Bart's back and rubbed it, the way he'd rubbed it when his son was little.

Bart kept breathing, and things gradually got easier. His father kept rubbing, and the parental tenderness felt good. Then he remembered why he couldn't breathe. How close had he come to being an orphan at age five?

"I'm alright," he said, and his father helped him up from his knees. "I'm sorry . . . . Pappy, I couldn't breathe. I . . . . .uh, what you told me . . . . . Bret knows?"

His father nodded 'yes,' and it explained a lot. Whenever there was trouble, Bret was always there, waiting . . . . and watching, to make sure he didn't try to do the same thing. Poor Bret . . . . . all these years, to carry that burden and never share it. Never spill the secret, never divulge how one night their father had . . . . . . tried to kill himself. Just like Bart had in Mexico.

"There's more, Bart, that I need to tell you." Bart looked at his father, the panic quickly returning. "No, no, son, it's not like that. You know the worst. But you need to hear the best, too."

The best? What was he talking about? What else was there? Hadn't he been beaten up enough emotionally for one night? He glanced down at his father, who suddenly seemed small and old, and the look on Beauregard's face told him that he wasn't the only one in pain. He straightened up and grabbed Pappy's arm.

"I'm ready if you are. Let's go, Pappy."

Father and son went back inside and upstairs, and Bart waited to hear the rest. Or, as Pappy put it, the best.

 _When Beauregard finally woke up, it was almost sixteen hours later. He wasn't sure what happened last night, but he was sure of one thing – he'd made a decision to end all this misery and suffering and he was going to carry it out. No matter who tried to stop him._

 _He got out of bed and straightened up, hearing all sorts of sounds coming from the other room of the house. He left the room and things got very still, as Solita spotted him from the wash tub in the kitchen and nudged his brother. "Mr. Beau," she said, and Ben nodded._

" _Bout time you woke up," Ben told him. "We're almost done. Come over here and sit down, you're gonna eat somethin'. And if you think I'm not serious about this just try me."_

 _Beau walked to the table and sat down, not willing to start a fight in front of the girl. He ate what Ben put in front of him. When he was finished he asked his brother, "Where are my guns?"_

" _None a your damn business," Ben answered. He turned to his nephew, who was standing behind Ben. Beau hadn't seen his oldest son. "Go on outside, Bret, and send Lily Mae in here."_

 _Bret nodded and left. Ben turned back to his brother as Solita went into Beau's bedroom. "She's gonna do some cleanin' up in there. You should be ashamed, Beauregard. How many times over the years did you tell me to take care of my things? And you treat your clothes like this?"_

" _How I treat my clothes is none a your damn business, Bentley. Now where's my guns?"_

 _Ben snorted. "Hmmpf. Somewhere where you won't find 'em," he answered. "What were you lookin' for 'em for, anyway?"_

 _No sense in lying, Ben knew exactly why he wanted them. "I want 'em to blow my brains out," Beau answered, emotionless._

" _What's that gonna solve?"_

" _Everything," Beau said._

" _What about your sons? What's it gonna solve for them?"_

 _Beau let out a short, sad laugh. "They'll be better off without me."_

" _You think so? You didn't see your oldest last night, when he rode hell-bent for leather to get me, to stop you from doin' what you wanted to do."_

 _Beau sat at the table, looking down at the floor. "He's old enough. He'll have you and Lily Mae."_

" _I'm not his father, and Lily Mae's not his mother. And just who is this one gonna have?"_

 _Lily Mae came through the door, holding five-year-old Bart. As soon as Bart saw his father he squealed and tried to reach out and grab Beau, babbling "Pappy, pappy, pappy."_

 _Beau looked up and his heart broke. Bart looked just like his younger sister Jessalyn, whom Beau and Ben hadn't seen since she was fifteen or sixteen and ran away from home. Lily set Bart down on the floor and he ran straight to his father, who scooped him up and held him close. "Pappy, you well now?"_

" _What, son?"_

" _Lily Mae said you weren't well. You're not like Momma, are you? You're not gonna go live with the angels, too, are you pappy?"_

 _Beau sucked in his breath as he looked at his little boy. Belle had fought so hard to make Bart well every time he caught something. How could he leave his child now, and label him an orphan at the tender age of five? And then Bart looked right at Beauregard, with those eyes. Those dancing eyes, just like his momma._

 _Ben looked at Lily Mae and smiled. His plan was working. He pointed at the door and he and Lily Mae walked back outdoors, unnoticed by Beauregard, who was inside talking to his son._

"What are you tellin' me, Pappy?"

Beau looked at his youngest son, the man with the dancing eyes, and told him the absolute truth. "You're the reason I'm alive, Bart. If it weren't for you, I would have waited until Ben gave my guns back and I would have killed myself."


	18. The Last Verse

Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 17 – The Last Verse

"What are you tellin' me, Pappy?"

Beau looked at his youngest son, the man with the dancing eyes, and told him the absolute truth. "You're the reason I'm alive, Bart. If it weren't for you, I would have waited until Ben gave my guns back and I would have killed myself."

Bart sat in stunned silence for minutes. He was the reason that Pappy was still there? "I . . . . . I don't know what to say."

Beauregard shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to tell you for a long time, Bartley, but the time was never right. There was always some kind of a wall between us. I would have told you in Montana . . . . . . but you were too . . . . . . fragile. When you came back from Mexico, you were gone again so fast. And I just felt like I had to tell you soon. I don't just love you, son. I owe you my life. Do you get that now?"

"Sort of . . . . . ."

"There's so much me in you . . . . . I was ashamed and embarrassed by a lot of what happened after I fell in love with your mother. I couldn't just give you part of the story. That's all Bret knows . . . . .bits and pieces. He was there the night that I . . . . .but he doesn't know why I never tried again. How could I tell him that I would have died if it was just him, that you were the one I had to live for. You needed me. Your mother . . . . . . was alive in your eyes."

"Pappy, if you knew. . . . . . . some of the things you went through. . . . . . I've been through the same. Things you didn't want me to face . . . . I've faced those very things. I've made the same mistakes you made. If you only knew . . . . ."

"All I wanted was to protect you from the same things. Didn't do a very good job of it, did I?"

"You did a fine job, Beauregard Maverick. A fine job."

"Now what, Bart?"

"I don't know, Pappy. I really don't. I may just ride out of here and go . . . . somewhere. I think you need to spend some time with your firstborn son. Right now he's the one that needs your help."

Beauregard gave Bart a quizzical look. "Do you really think so?"

A nod of the head. "I do. He needs to put his own life first for a while. Quit lookin' out for me. I appreciate the help, and he's bailed me out of some real jams. But Bret needs to take care of Bret. If I just disappear someday soon, don't be surprised. If he knows I'm goin', he may follow me. So I'll say this now while I'm still here. Thanks, Pappy, for tellin' me everything. And I'm glad it was just me, after all, and not both of us. Some things Bret wouldn't understand the way I do. And one more thing, Pappy."

"What's that, son?"

"I love you."

XXXXXXXX

Two days later Bart paid another visit to the desert willow tree and the little graveyard on the hill. Once again he dropped Noble's reins and walked over to his mother's headstone. Her grave had been cleaned off, and there was one bouquet of fresh flowers instead of the pile that had been there before. He held his hat in one hand and his mother's Bible in the other. He'd come to say goodbye.

"Well, Momma, that was quite an education I got from Pappy. Now I know all about Beth, and you and Pappy, and the things you two went through to be together and have me and Bret. I'm sorry I can't tell you how much I love you, and how much I've missed you all these years, but I guess you already know that, don't you? If Bret hasn't already been here to see you, don't give up on him. He'll be here. He's a little confused right now. Me? No, I'm clear-headed for the first time in a while. I know where I come from and where I've been. I just don't know where I'm goin'. But I'll figure it out. Momma, I'll figure it out.

"Pappy still loves you, ya know. He always has and I've no doubt he always will. He's ahead of me on that score, Momma. I thought I'd met mine, but I lost her. If there's not another one out there for me, well, I'll get by. Bret's head over heels in love right now. I hope he stays that way. She's a real nice girl.

"I'm gonna be gone again for a while, but I'll get back to see you sooner rather than later. I love you, Momma. Always have. Take care of 'em, would ya? Sometimes they really need it."

He took one last look at his mother's grave and turned back to Noble. "Just me an you again, old man. Where ya think we oughtta go this time?"

The End


End file.
